THE  NOVELS  OF 

ARNOLD  BENNETT 


THE  OLD  WIVES'  TALE 
HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 
WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED 
/;REDAND  PROFANE  LOVE 
A  GREAT  MAN 


ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 
A  MAN  FROM  THE  NORTH 


<Bl)t  kittle 


ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 


"  Therefore,  although  it  be  a  history 
Homely  and  rude,  I  will  relate  the  »amt 
For  the  delight  of  a  few  natural  hearts." 


ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

A  NOVEL 


BY 

ARNOLD  BENNETT 

AUTHOR  OF 

'THE  OLD  WIVES'  TALE,"  "HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND, 
"WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 
MGMX 


COPYRIGHT,  1902,  BT 
McCLURE,  PHILLIPS  A  CO. 


Published,  February,  1903,  R 


I   DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK 

WITH     AFFECTION     AND     ADMIRATION 
TO 

HERBERT   SHARPE 
AN  ARTIST 

WHOSE    INDIVIDUALITY    AND    ACHIEVEMENT 
HAVE    CONTINUALLY    INSPIRED    ME 


2040500 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I.    THE  KINDLING  OF  LOVE, 1 

II.  THE  MISER'S  DAUOHTKB,          ....  20 

III.  THE  BIRTHDAY,          ....'...  31 

IV.  A  VISIT, 53 

V.    THE  REVIVAL, 66 

VI.    WILLIE, 79 

VII.    THE  SEWING  MEETING 102 

VIII.     ON  THE  BANK, 128 

IX.    THE  TREAT, 162 

X.    THE  ISLE 175 

XI.    THE  DOWNFALL, 217 

XII.    AT  THE  PRIORY 256 

XIII.  THE  BAZAAR 282 

XIV.  END  OF  A  SIMPLE  SOUL,  ......  295 


ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 


I:  THE   KINDLING   OF   LOVE 

THE  yard  was  all  silent  and  empty  under  the  burning 
afternoon  heat,  which  had  made  its  asphalt  springy 
like  turf,  when  suddenly  the  children  threw  them- 
selves out  of  the  great  doors  at  either  end  of  the  Sunday- 
school — boys  from  the  right,  girls  from  the  left — in  two 
howling,  impetuous  streams,  that  widened,  eddied,  inter- 
mingled, and  formed  backwaters  until  the  whole  quadrangle 
was  full  of  clamour  and  movement.  Many  of  the  scholars 
carried  prize-books  bound  in  vivid  tints,  and  proudly  ex- 
hibited these  volumes  to  their  companions  and  to  the  teach- 
ers, who,  tall,  languid,  and  condescending,  soon  began  to 
appear  amid  the  restless  throng.  Near  the  left-hand  door 
a  little  girl  of  twelve  years,  dressed  in  a  cream-coloured 
frock,  with  a  wide  and  heavy  straw  hat,  stood  quietly  kick- 
ing her  foal-like  legs  against  the  wall.  She  was  one  of  those 
who  had  won  a  prize,  and  once  or  twice  she  took  the  treas- 
ure from  under  her  arm  to  glance  at  its  frontispiece  with  a 
vague  smile  of  satisfaction.  For  a  time  her  bright  eyes 
were  fixed  expectantly  on  the  doorway;  then  they  would 
wander,  and  she  started  to  count  the  windows  of  the  vari- 
ous Connexional  buildings  which  on  three  sides  enclosed 
the  yard — chapel,  school,  lecture-hall,  and  chapel-keeper's 
house.  Most  of  the  children  had  already  squeezed  through 
the  narrow  iron  gate  into  the  street  beyond,  where  a  steam- 
car  was  rumbling  and  clattering  up  Duck  Bank,  attended 


by  its  immense  shadow.  The  teachers  remained  a  little  be- 
hind. Gradually  dropping  the  pedagogic  pose,  and  happy 
in  the  virtuous  sensation  of  duty  accomplished,  they  forgot 
the  frets  and  fatigues  of  the  day,  and  grew  amiably  viva- 
cious among  themselves.  With  an  instinctive  mutual  com- 
placency the  two  sexes  mixed  again  after  separation. 
Greetings  and  pleasantries  were  exchanged,  and  intimate 
conversations  begun ;  and  then,  dividing  into  small  familiar 
groups,  the  young  men  and  women  slowly  followed  their 
pupils  out  of  the  gate.  The  chapel-keeper,  who  always 
had  an  injured  expression,  left  the  white  step  of  his  resi- 
dence, and,  walking  with  official  dignity  across  the  yard, 
drew  down  the  side-windows  of  the  chapel  one  after  another. 
As  he  approached  the  little  solitary  girl  in  his  course  he 
gave  her  a  reluctant  acid  recognition ;  then  he  returned  to 
his  hearth.  Agnes  was  alone. 

"Well,  young  lady?" 

She  looked  round  with  a  jump,  and  blushed,  smiling  and 
screwing  up  her  little  shoulders,  when  she  recognised  the 
two  men  who  were  coming  towards  her  from  the  door  of 
the  lecture-hall.  The  one  who  had  called  out  was  Henry 
Mynors,  morning  superintendent  of  the  Sunday-school  and 
conductor  of  the  men's  Bible-class  held  in  the  lecture-hall 
on  Sunday  afternoons.  The  other  was  William  Price, 
usually  styled  Willie  Price,  secretary  of  the  same  Bible- 
class,  and  son  of  Titus  Price,  the  afternoon  superintendent. 

"  I'm  sure  you  don't  deserve  that  prke.  Let  me  see  if 
it  isn't  too  good  for  you."  Mynors  smiled  playfully  down 
upon  Agnes  Tellwright  as  he  idly  turned  the  leaves  of  the 


THE   KINDLING   OF   LOVE  3 

book  which  she  handed  to  him.  "  Now,  do  you  deserve  it? 
Tell  me  honestly." 

She  scrutinised  those  sparkling  and  vehement  black  eyes 
with  the  fearless  calm  of  infancy.  "  Yes,  I  do,"  she  an- 
swered in  her  high,  thin  voice,  having  at  length  decided 
within  herself  that  Mr.  Mynors  was  joking. 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  must  have  it,"  he  admitted,  with  a 
fine  air  of  giving  way. 

As  Agnes  took  the  volume  from  him  she  thought  how 
perfect  a  man  Mr.  Mynors  was.  His  eyes,  so  kind  and 
sincere,  and  that  mysterious,  delicious,  inexpressible  some- 
thing which  dwelt  behind  his  eyes ;  these  constituted  an  ideal 
for  her. 

Willie  Price  stood  somewhat  apart,  grinning,  and  pull- 
ing a  thin  honey-coloured  moustache.  He  was  at  the  un- 
couth, disjointed  age,  twenty-one,  and  nine  years  younger 
than  Henry  Mynors.  Despite  a  continual  effort  after  ease 
of  manner,  he  was  often  sheepish  and  self-conscious,  even, 
as  now,  when  he  could  discover  no  reason  for  such  a  condi- 
tion of  mind.  But  Agnes  liked  him  too.  His  simple,  pale 
blue  eyes  had  a  wistfulness  which  made  her  feel  towards 
him  as  she  felt  towards  her  doll  when  she  happened  to  find 
it  lying  neglected  on  the  floor. 

"  Your  big  sister  isn't  out  of  school  yet  ?  "  Mynors  re- 
marked. 

Agnes  shook  her  head.  "  I've  been  waiting  ever  so 
long,"  she  said  plaintively. 

At  that  moment  a  grey-haired  woman,  with  a  benevolent 
but  rather  pinched  face,  emerged  with  much  briskness  from 


4  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

the  girls'  door.  This  was  Mrs.  Sutton,  a  distant  relative  of 
Mynors' — his  mother  had  been  her  second  cousin.  The  men 
raised  their  hats. 

"  I've  just  been  down  to  make  sure  of  some  of  you  slip- 
pery folks  for  the  sewing-meeting,"  she  said,  shaking  hands 
with  Mynors,  and  including  both  him  and  Willie  Price  in 
an  embracing  maternal  smile.  She  was  short-sighted  and 
did  not  perceive  Agnes,  who  had  fallen  back. 

"  Had  a  good  class  this  afternoon,  Henry?  "  Mrs.  Sut- 
ton's  breathing  was  short  and  quick. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  "  very  good  indeed." 

"  You're  doing  a  grand  work." 

"  We  had  over  seventy  present,"  he  added. 

"  Eh !  "  she  said,  "  I  make  nothing  of  numbers,  Henry. 
1  meant  a  good  class.  Doesn't  it  say — Where  two  or  three 
are  gathered  together  .  .  .  ?  But  I  must  be  getting  on. 
The  horse  will  be  restless.  I've  to  go  up  to  Hillport  before 
tea.  Mrs.  Clayton  Vernon  is  ill." 

Scarcely  having  stopped  in  her  active  course,  Mrs.  Sut- 
ton drew  the  men  along  with  her  down  the  yard,  she  and 
Mynors  in  rapid  talk :  Willie  Price  fell  a  little  to  the  rear, 
his  big  hands  halfway  into  his  pockets  and  his  eyes  diffi- 
dently roving.  It  appeared  as  though  he  could  not  find 
courage  to  take  a  share  in  the  conversation,  yet  was  anxious 
to  convince  himself  of  his  right  to  do  so. 

Mynors  helped  Mrs.  Sutton  into  her  carriage,  which  had 
been  drawn  up  outside  the  gate  of  the  school-yard.  Only 
two  families  of  the  Bursley  Wesleyan  Methodists  kept  a 
carriage,  the  Suttons  and  the  Clayton  Vernons.  The  latter, 


boasting  lineage  and  a  large  house  in  the  aristocratic  sub- 
urb of  Hillport,  gave  to  the  society  monetary  aid  and  a 
gracious  condescension.  But  though  indubitably  above  the 
operation  of  any  unwritten  sumptuary  law,  even  the  Clay- 
ton Vernons  ventured  only  in  wet  weather  to  bring  their 
carriage  to  chapel.  Yet  Mrs.  Sutton,  who  was  a  plain 
woman,  might  with  impunity  use  her  equipage  on  Sundays. 
This  license  granted  by  Connexional  opinion  was  due  to  the 
fact  that  she  so  obviously  regarded  her  carriage,  not  as  a 
carriage,  but  as  a  contrivance  on  four  wheels  for  enabling 
an  infirm  creature  to  move  rapidly  from  place  to  place. 
When  she  got  into  it  she  had  exactly  the  air  of  a  doctor  on 
his  rounds.  Mrs.  Sutton's  bodily  frame  had  long  ago 
proved  inadequate  to  the  ceaseless  demands  of  a  spirit  in- 
defatigably  altruistic,  and  her  continuance  in  activity  was 
a  notable  illustration  of  the  dominion  of  mind  over  matter. 
Her  husband,  a  potter's  valuer  and  commission  agent, 
made  money  with  facility  in  that  lucrative  vocation,  and 
his  wife's  charities  were  famous,  notwithstanding  her  at- 
tempts to  hide  them.  Neither  husband  or  wife  had  allowed 
riches  to  put  a  factitious  gloss  upon  their  primal  sim- 
plicity. They  were  as  they  were,  save  that  Mr.  Sutton  had 
joined  the  Five  Towns  Field  Club  and  acquired  some  of  the 
habits  of  an  archaeologist.  The  influence  of  wealth  on  man- 
ners was  to  be  observed  only  in  their  daughter  Beatrice, 
who,  while  favouring  her  mother,  dressed  at  considerable 
expense,  and  at  intervals  gave  much  time  to  the  arts  of 
music  and  painting. 

Agnes  watched  the  carriage  drive  away,  and  then  turned 


6  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

to  look  up  the  stairs  within  the  school  doorway.  She  sighed, 
scowled,  and  sighed  again,  murmured  something  to  her- 
self, and  finally  began  to  read  her  book. 

"  Not  come  out  yet  ?  "  Mynors  was  at  her  side  once  more, 
alone  this  time. 

"  No,  not  yet,"  said  Agnes,  wearied.  "  Yes.  Here  she 
is.  Anna,  what  ages  you've  been  !  " 

Anna  Tellwright  stood  motionless  for  a  second  in  the 
shadow  of  the  doorway.  She  was  tall,  but  not  unusually 
so,  and  sturdily  built  up.  Her  figure,  though  the  bust  was 
a  little  flat,  had  the  lenient  curves  of  absolute  maturity. 
Anna  had  been  a  woman  since  seventeen,  and  she  was  now 
on  the  eve  of  her  twenty-first  birthday.  She  wore  a  plain, 
home-made  light  frock  checked  with  brown  and  edged  with 
brown  velvet,  thin  cotton  gloves  of  cream  colour,  and  a 
broad  straw  hat  like  her  sister's.  Her  grave  face,  owing  to 
the  prominence  of  the  cheek-bones  and  the  width  of  the  jaw, 
had  a  slight  angularity ;  the  lips  were  thin,  the  brown  eyes 
rather  large,  the  eyebrows  level,  the  nose  fine  and  delicate; 
the  ears  could  scarcely  be  seen  for  the  dark  brown  hair 
which  was  brushed  diagonally  across  the  temples,  leaving 
of  the  forehead  only  a  pale  triangle.  It  seemed  a  face  for 
the  cloister,  austere  in  contour,  fervent  in  expression,  the 
severity  of  it  mollified  by  that  resigned  and  spiritual  mel- 
ancholy peculiar  to  women  who,  through  the  error  of  des- 
tiny, have  been  born  into  a  wrong  environment. 

As  if  charmed  forward  by  Mynors'  compelling  eyes, 
Anna  stepped  into  the  sunlight,  at  the  same  time  putting 
up  her  parasol.  "  How  calm  and  stately  she  is,"  he  thought, 


THE   KINDLING   OF   LOVE  7 

as  she  gave  him  her  cool  hand  and  murmured  a  reply  to  his 
salutation.  But  even  his  aquiline  gaze  could  not  surprise 
the  secrets  of  that  concealing  breast:  this  was  one  of  the 
three  great  tumultuous  moments  of  her  life — she  realised 
for  the  first  time  that  she  was  loved. 

"  You  are  late  this  afternoon,  Miss  Tellwright,"  Mynors 
began,  with  the  easy  inflections  of  a  man  well  accustomed 
to  prominence  in  the  society  of  women.  Little  Agnes 
seized  Anna's  left  arm,  silently  holding  up  the  prize,  and 
Anna  nodded  appreciation. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  as  they  walked  across  the  yard,  "  one  of 
my  girls  has  been  doing  wrong.  She  stole  a  Bible  from  an- 
other girl,  so  of  course  I  had  to  mention  it  to  the  superin- 
tendent. Mr.  Price  gave  her  a  long  lecture,  and  now  she  is 
waiting  upstairs  till  he  is  ready  to  go  with  her  to  her 
home  and  talk  to  her  parents.  He  says  she  must  be 
dismissed." 

"  Dismissed ! " 

Anna's  look  flashed  a  grateful  response  to  him.  By  the 
least  possible  emphasis  he  had  expressed  a  complete  dis- 
agreement with  his  senior  colleague  which  etiquette  for- 
bade him  to  utter  in  words. 

"  I  think  it's  a  very  great  pity,"  Anna  said  firmly.  "  I 
rather  like  the  girl,"  she  ventured  in  haste ;  "  you  might 
speak  to  Mr.  Price  about  it." 

"  If  he  mentions  it  to  me." 

"  Yes,  I  meant  that.  Mr.  Price  said — if  it  had  been  any- 
thing else  but  a  Bible " 

"  Um !  "  he  murmured,  very  low,  but  she  caught  the  sig- 


8  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

nificance  of  his  intonation.  They  did  not  glance  at  each 
other:  it  was  unnecessary.  Anna  felt  that  comfortable 
easement  of  spirit  which  springs  from  the  recognition  of 
another  spirit  capable  of  understanding  without  explana- 
tions and  of  sympathising  without  a  phrase.  Under  that 
calm  mask  a  strange  and  sweet  satisfaction  thrilled  through 
her  as  her  precious  instinct  of  common  sense — rarest  of  good 
qualities,  and  pining  always  for  fellowship — found  a  com- 
panion in  his  own.  She  had  dreaded  the  overtures  which 
for  a  fortnight  past  she  had  foreseen  were  inevitably  to 
come  from  Mynors:  he  was  a  stranger,  whom  she  merely 
respected.  Now  in  a  sudden  disclosure  she  knew  him  and 
liked  him.  The  dire  apprehension  of  those  formal  "  ad- 
vances "  which  she  had  watched  other  men  make  to  other 
women  faded  away.  It  was  at  once  a  release  and  a  reas- 
surance. 

They  were  passing  through  the  gate,  Agnes  skipping 
round  her  sister's  skirts,  when  Willie  Price  reappeared  from 
the  direction  of  the  chapel. 

"Forgotten  something?"  Mynors  inquired  of  him 
blandly. 

"  Ye-es,"  he  stammered,  clumsily  raising  his  hat  to  Anna. 
She  thought  of  him  exactly  as  Agnes  had  done.  He  hesi- 
tated for  a  fraction  of  time,  and  then  went  up  to  the  yard 
towards  the  lecture-hall. 

"  Agnes  has  been  showing  me  her  prize,"  said  Mynors, 
as  the  three  stood  together  outside  the  gate.  "  I  ask  her  if 
she  thinks  she  really  deserves  it,  and  she  says  she  does. 
What  do  you  think,  Miss  Big  Sister?  " 


THE   KINDLING   OF   LOVE  9 

Anna  gave  the  little  girl  an  affectionate  smile  of  com- 
prehension. "  What  is  it  called,  dear  ?  " 

"  '  Janey's  Sacrifice  or  the  Spool  of  Cotton,  and  other 
stories  for  children,'  "  Agnes  read  out  in  a  monotone :  then 
she  clutched  Anna's  elbow  and  aimed  a  whisper  at  her  ear. 

"  Very  well,  dear,"  Anna  answered  aloud,  "  but  we  must 
be  back  by  a  quarter-past  four."  And  turning  to  Mynors : 
"  Agnes  wants  to  go  up  to  the  Park  to  hear  the  band 
play." 

"  I'm  going  up  there,  too,"  he  said.  "  Come  along, 
Agnes,  take  my  arm  and  show  me  the  way."  Shyly  Agnes 
left  her  sister's  side  and  put  a  pink  finger  into  Mynors' 
hand. 

Moor  Road,  which  climbs  over  the  ridge  to  the  mining 
village  of  Moorthorne  and  passes  the  new  park  on  its  way, 
was  crowded  with  people  going  up  to  criticise  and  enjoy 
this  latest  outcome  of  municipal  enterprise  in  Bursley: 
sedate  elders  of  the  borough  who  smiled  grimly  to  see  one 
another  on  Sunday  afternoon  in  that  undignified,  idly  curi- 
ous throng;  white-skinned  potters,  and  miners  with  the 
swarthy  pallor  of  subterranean  toil;  untidy  Sabbath  loaf- 
ers whom  neither  church  nor  chapel  could  entice,  and  the 
primly-clad  respectable,  who  had  not  only  clothes,  but  a 
separate  deportment  for  the  seventh  day ;  housewives  whose 
pale  faces,  as  of  prisoners  free  only  for  a  while,  showed  a 
naive  and  timorous  pleasure  in  the  unusual  diversion; 
young  women  made  glorious  by  richly-coloured  stuffs  and 
carrying  themselves  with  the  defiant  independence  of  good 
wages  earned  in  warehouse  or  painting-shop;  youths  op- 


10  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

pressed  by  stiff  new  clothes  bought  at  Whitsuntide,  in 
which  the  bright  necktie  and  the  nosegay  revealed  a  thou- 
sand secret  aspirations;  young  children  running  and  yell- 
ing with  the  marvellous  energy  of  their  years;  here  and 
there  a  small  well-dressed  group,  whose  studious  repudia- 
tion of  the  crowd  betrayed  a  conscious  eminence  of  rank; 
louts,  drunkards,  idiots,  beggars,  waifs,  outcasts,  and  every 
oddity  of  the  town :  all  were  more  or  less  under  the  influence 
of  a  new  excitement,  and  all,  with  the  same  face  of  pleased 
expectancy,  looked  towards  the  spot  where,  half-way  up  the 
hill,  a  denser  mass  of  sightseers  indicated  the  grand  en- 
trance to  the  Park. 

"  What  stacks  of  folks !  "  Agnes  exclaimed.  "  It's  like 
going  to  a  football  match." 

"  Do  you  go  to  football  matches,  Agnes  ?  "  Mynors  asked. 
The  child  gave  a  giggle. 

Anna  was  relieved  when  these  two  began  to  chatter.  She 
had  at  once,  by  a  firm  natural  impulse,  subdued  the  agita- 
tion which  seized  her  when  she  found  Mynors  waiting  with 
such  an  obvious  intention  at  the  school  door;  she  had  con- 
versed with  him  in  tones  of  quiet  ease ;  his  attitude  had  even 
enabled  her  in  a  few  moments  to  establish  a  pleasant  famili- 
arity with  him.  Nevertheless,  as  they  joined  the  stream  of 
people  in  Moor  Road,  she  longed  to  be  at  home,  in  her 
kitchen,  in  order  to  examine  herself  and  the  new  situation 
thus  created  by  Mynors.  And  yet  also  she  was  glad  that 
she  must  remain  at  his  side,  but  it  was  fluttered  joy  that  his 
presence  gave  her,  too  strange  for  immediate  apprecia- 
tion. As  her  eye,  without  directly  looking  at  him,  em- 


THE   KINDLING  OP  LOVE  11 

braced  the  suave  and  admirable  male  creature  within  its 
field  of  vision,  she  became  aware  that  he  was  quite  inscrut- 
able to  her.  What  were  his  inmost  thoughts,  his  ideals,  the 
histories  of  his  heart?  Surely  it  was  impossible  that  she 
should  ever  know  these  secrets!  He — and  she:  they  were 
utterly  foreign  to  each  other.  So  the  primary  dissonances 
of  sex  vibrated  within  her,  and  her  own  feelings  puzzled 
her.  Still,  there  was  an  instant  pleasure,  delightful,  if  dis- 
turbing and  inexplicable.  And  also  there  was  a  sensation 
of  triumph,  which,  though  she  tried  to  scorn  it,  she  could 
not  banish.  That  a  man  and  a  woman  should  saunter  to- 
gether on  that  road  was  nothing;  but  the  circumstance  ac- 
quired tremendous  importance  when  the  man  happened  to 
be  Henry  Mynors  and  the  woman  Anna  Tellwright.  My- 
nors — handsome,  dark,  accomplished,  exemplary,  and  pros- 
perous— had  walked  for  ten  years  circumspect  and  un- 
scathed amid  the  glances  of  a  whole  legion  of  maids.  As 
for  Anna,  the  peculiarity  of  her  position  had  always  marked 
her  for  special  attention :  ever  since  her  father  settled  in 
Bursley,  she  had  felt  herself  to  be  the  object  of  an  interest 
in  which  awe  and  pity  were  equally  mingled.  She  guessed 
that  the  fact  of  her  going  to  the  Park  with  Mynors  that 
afternoon  would  pass  swiftly  from  mouth  to  mouth  like  the 
rumour  of  a  decisive  event.  She  had  no  friends;  her  in- 
nate reserve  had  been  misinterpreted,  and  she  was  not  popu- 
lar among  the  Wesleyan  community.  Many  people  would 
say,  and  more  would  think,  that  it  was  her  money  which 
was  drawing  Mynors  from  the  narrow  path  of  his  celibate 
discretion.  She  could  imagine  all  the  innuendos,  the  ex- 


12  ANNA  OP  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

pressive  nods,  the  pursing  of  lips,  the  lifting  of  shoulders 
and  of  eyebrows.  "  Money  '11  do  owt  " :  that  was  the  prov- 
erb. But  she  cared  not.  She  had  the  just  and  unshakeable 
self-esteem  which  is  fundamental  in  all  strong  and  right- 
eous natures ;  and  she  knew  beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt 
that,  though  Mynors  might  have  no  incurable  aversion  to  a 
fortune,  she  herself,  the  spirit  and  body  of  her,  had  been 
the  sole  awakener  of  his  desire. 

By  a  common  instinct,  Mynors  and  Anna  made  little 
Agnes  the  centre  of  attraction.  Mynors  continued  to  tease 
her,  and  Agnes,  growing  courageous,  began  to  retort.  She 
was  now  walking  between  them,  and  the  other  two  smiled  to 
each  other  at  the  child's  sayings  over  her  head,  interchang- 
ing thus  messages  too  subtle  and  delicate  for  the  coarse 
medium  of  words. 

As  they  approached  the  Park  the  bandstand  came  into 
sight  over  the  railway  cutting,  and  they  could  hear  the 
music  of  "  The  Emperor's  Hymn."  The  crude,  brazen 
sounds  were  tempered  in  their  passage  through  the  warm, 
still  air,  and  fell  gently  on  the  ear  in  soft  waves,  quicken- 
ing every  heart  to  unaccustomed  emotions.  Children  leaped 
forward,  and  old  people  unconsciously  assumed  a  lightsome 
vigour. 

The  Park  rose  in  terraces  from  the  railway  station  to  a 
street  of  small  villas  almost  on  the  ridge  of  the  hill.  From 
its  gilded  gates  to  its  smallest  geranium-slips  it  was  brand- 
new,  and  most  of  it  was  red.  The  keeper's  house,  the  band- 
stand, the  kiosks,  the  balustrades,  the  shelters — all  these 
assailed  the  eye  with  a  uniform  redness  of  brick  and  tile 


THE   KINDLING   OF   LOVE  13 

which  nullified  the  pallid  greens  of  the  turf  and  the  frail 
trees.  The  immense  crowd,  in  order  to  circulate,  moved 
along  in  tight  processions,  inspecting,  one  after  another, 
the  various  features  of  which  they  had  read  full  descrip- 
tions in  the  "  Staffordshire  Signal  " — waterfall,  grotto, 
lake,  swans,  boat,  seats,  faience,  statues — and  scanning 
with  interest  the  names  of  the  donors  so  clearly  inscribed  on 
such  objects  of  art  and  craft  as,  from  divers  motives,  had 
been  presented  to  the  town  by  its  citizens.  Mynors,  as  he 
manoeuvred  a  way  for  the  two  girls  through  the  main  ave- 
nue up  to  the  topmost  terrace,  gravely  judged  each  thing 
upon  its  merits,  approving  this,  condemning  that.  In  de- 
ciding that  under  all  the  circumstances  the  Park  made  a 
very  creditable  appearance,  he  only  reflected  the  best  local 
opinion.  The  town  was  proud  of  its  achievement,  and  it 
had  the  right  to  be ;  for,  though  this  narrow  pleasuance  was 
in  itself  unlovely,  it  symbolised  the  first  faint  renascence  of 
the  longing  for  beauty  in  a  district  long  given  up  to  un- 
redeemed ugliness. 

At  length,  Mynors  having  encountered  many  acquaint- 
ances, they  got  past  the  bandstand  and  stood  on  the  highest 
terrace,  which  was  almost  deserted.  Beneath  them,  in  front, 
stretched  a  maze  of  roofs,  dominated  by  the  gold  angel  of 
the  Town  Hall  spire.  Bursley,  the  ancient  home  of  the 
potter,  has  an  antiquity  of  a  thousand  years.  It  lies  towards 
the  north  end  of  an  extensive  valley,  which  must  have  been 
one  of  the  fairest  spots  in  Alfred's  England,  but  which  is 
now  defaced  by  the  activities  of  a  quarter  of  a  million  of 
people. 


14  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Five  contiguous  towns — Turnhill,  Bursley,  Hanbridge, 
Knype,  and  Longshaw — united  by  a  single  winding 
thoroughfare  some  eight  miles  in  length,  have  inundated 
the  valley  like  a  succession  of  great  lakes.  Of  these  five  Bur- 
sley is  the  mother,  but  Hanbridge  is  the  largest.  They 
are  mean  and  forbidding  of  aspect — sombre,  hard-featured, 
uncouth ;  and  the  vaporous  poison  of  their  ovens  and  chim- 
neys has  soiled  and  shrivelled  the  surrounding  country  till 
there  is  no  village  lane  within  a  league  but  what  offers  a 
gaunt  and  ludicrous  travesty  of  rural  charms.  Nothing 
could  be  more  prosaic  than  the  huddled,  red-brown  streets ; 
nothing  more  seemingly  remote  from  romance.  Yet  be  it 
said  that  romance  is  even  here — the  romance  which,  for 
those  who  have  an  eye  to  perceive  it,  ever  dwells  amid  the 
seats  of  industrial  manufacture,  softening  the  coarseness, 
transfiguring  the  squalor,  of  these  mighty  alchemic  opera- 
tions. Look  down  into  the  valley  from  this  terrace-height 
where  love  is  kindling,  embrace  the  whole  smoke-girt  amphi- 
theatre in  a  glance,  and  it  may  be  that  you  will  suddenly 
comprehend  the  secret  and  superb  significance  of  the  vast 
Doing  which  goes  forward  below.  Because  they  seldom 
think,  the  townsmen  take  shame  when  indicted  for  having 
disfigured  half  a  county  in  order  to  live.  They  have  not 
understood  that  this  disfigurement  is  merely  an  episode  in 
the  unending  warfare  of  man  and  nature,  and  calls  for  no 
contrition. 

Here,  indeed,  is  nature  repaid  for  some  of  her  no- 
torious cruelties.  She  imperiously  bids  man  sustain  and 
reproduce  himself,  and  this  is  one  of  the  places  where  in  the 


THE   KINDLING   OF   LOVE  15 

very  act  of  obedience  he  wounds  and  maltreats  her.  Out 
beyond  the  municipal  confines,  where  the  subsidiary  indus- 
tries of  coal  and  iron  prosper  amid  a  wreck  of  verdure,  the 
struggle  is  grim,  appalling,  heroic — so  ruthless  is  his  havoc 
of  her,  so  indomitable  her  ceaseless  recuperation.  On  the 
one  side  is  a  wresting  from  nature's  own  bowels  of  the  means 
to  waste  her;  on  the  other,  an  undismayed,  enduring  forti- 
tude. The  grass  grows ;  though  it  is  not  green,  it  grows. 
In  the  very  heart  of  the  valley,  hedged  about  with  furnaces, 
a  farm  still  stands,  and  at  harvest -time  the  sooty  sheaves 
are  gathered  in. 

The  band  stopped  playing.  A  whole  population  was 
idle  in  the  Park,  and  it  seemed,  in  the  fierce  calm  of  the  sun- 
light, that  of  all  the  strenuous  weekday  vitality  of  the  dis- 
trict only  a  murmurous  hush  remained.  But  everywhere  on 
the  horizon,  and  nearer,  furnaces  cast  their  heavy  smoke 
across  the  borders  of  the  sky :  the  Doing  was  never  sus- 
pended. 

"  Mr.  Mynors,"  said  Agnes,  still  holding  his  hand,  when 
they  had  been  silent  a  moment,  "  when  do  these  furnaces  go 
out?" 

"  They  don't  go  out,"  he  answered,  "  unless  there  is  a 
strike.  It  costs  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  pounds  to  light 
them  again." 

"  Does  it  ?  "  she  said  vaguely.  "  Father  says  it's  smoke 
that  stops  my  gilliflowers  from  growing." 

Mynors  turned  to  Anna.  "  Your  father  seems  the  pic- 
ture of  health.  I  saw  him  out  this  morning  at  a  quarter  to 
seven,  as  brisk  as  a  boy.  What  a  constitution ! " 


16  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Yes,"  Anna  replied,  "  he  is  always  up  at  six." 

"  But  you  aren't,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Yes,  I  too." 

"  And  me  too,"  Agnes  interjected. 

"  And  how  does  Bursley  compare  with  Hanbridge  ?  "  My- 
nors  continued.  Anna  paused  before  replying. 

"  I  like  it  better,"  she  said.  "  At  first — last  year — I 
thought  I  shouldn't." 

"  By  the  way,  your  father  used  to  preach  in  Hanbridge 
circuit " 

"  That  was  years  ago,"  she  said  quickly. 

"  But  why  won't  he  preach  here  ?  I  dare  say  you  know 
that  we  are  rather  short  of  local  preachers — good  ones, 
that  is." 

"  I  can't  say  why  father  doesn't  preach  now."  Anna 
flushed  as  she  spoke.  "  You  had  better  ask  him  that." 

"  Well,  I  will  do,"  he  laughed.  "  I  am  coming  to  see  him 
soon — perhaps  one  night  this  week." 

Anna  looked  at  Henry  Mynors  as  he  uttered  the  aston- 
ishing words.  The  Tellwrights  had  been  in  Bursley  a  year, 
but  no  visitor  had  crossed  their  doorsteps  except  the  min- 
ister, once,  and  such  poor  defaulters  as  came,  full  of  excuse 
and  obsequious  conciliation,  to  pay  rent  overdue. 

"Business,  I  suppose?"  she  said,  and  prayed  that  he 
might  not  be  intending  to  make  a  mere  call  of  ceremony. 

"  Yes,  business,"  he  answered  lightly.  "  But  you  will  be 
in?" 

"  I  am  always  in,"  she  said.  She  wondered  what  the  busi- 
ness could  be,  and  felt  relieved  to  know  that  his  visit  would 


THE   KINDLING  OF  LOVE  17 

have  at  least  some  assigned  pretext ;  but  already  her  heart 
beat  with  apprehensive  perturbation  at  the  thought  of  his 
presence  in  their  household. 

"  See ! "  said  Agnes,  whose  eyes  were  everywhere. 
"  There's  Miss  Sutton." 

Both  Mynors  and  Anna  looked  sharply  round.  Beatrice 
Sutton  was  coming  towards  them  along  the  terrace.  Sty- 
lishly clad  in  a  dress  of  pink  muslin,  with  harmonious  hat, 
gloves,  and  sunshade,  she  made  an  agreeable  and  rather 
effective  picture,  despite  her  plain,  round  face  and  stoutish 
figure.  She  had  the  air  of  being  a  leader.  Grafted  on  to 
the  original  simple  honesty  of  her  eyes  there  was  the  un- 
consciously-acquired arrogance  of  one  who  had  always  been 
accustomed  to  deference.  Socially,  Beatrice  had  no  peer 
among  the  young  women  who  were  active  in  the  Wesleyan 
Sunday-school.  Beatrice  had  been  used  to  teach  in  the 
afternoon  school,  but  she  had  recently  advanced  her  labours 
from  the  afternoon  to  the  morning,  in  response  to  a  hint 
that,  if  she  did  so,  the  force  of  her  influence  and  example 
might  lessen  the  chronic  dearth  of  morning  teachers. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Miss  Tellwright,"  Beatrice  said  as  she 
came  up.  "  So  you  have  come  to  look  at  the  Park." 

"  Yes,"  said  Anna,  and  then  stopped  awkwardly.  In  the 
tone  of  each  there  was  an  obscure  constraint,  and  some- 
thing in  Mynors'  smile  of  salute  to  Beatrice  showed  that  he 
too  shared  it. 

"  Seen  you  before,"  Beatrice  said  to  him  familiarly,  with- 
out taking  his  hand;  then  she  bent  down  and  kissed 
Agnes. 


18  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  mademoiselle?"  Mynors 
asked  her. 

"  Father's  just  down  below,  near  the  lake.  He  caught 
sight  of  you,  and  sent  me  up  to  say  that  you  were  to  be 
sure  to  come  in  to  supper  to-night.  You  will,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thanks.     I  had  meant  to." 

Anna  knew  that  they  were  related,  and  also  that  Mynors 
was  constantly  at  the  Suttons'  house,  but  the  close  intimacy 
between  these  two  came  nevertheless  like  a  shock  to  her. 
She  could  not  conquer  a  certain  resentment  of  it,  however 
absurd  such  a  feeling  might  seem  to  her  intelligence.  And 
this  attitude  extended  not  only  to  the  intimacy,  but  to  Bea- 
trice's handsome  clothes  and  facile  urbanity,  which  by  con- 
trast emphasised  her  own  poor  little  frock  and  tongue-tied 
manner.  The  mere  existence  of  Beatrice  so  near  to  Mynors 
was  like  an  affront  to  her.  Yet  at  heart,  and  even  while 
admiring  this  shining  daughter  of  success,  she  was  con- 
scious within  herself  of  a  fundamental  superiority.  The 
soul  of  her  condescended  to  the  soul  of  the  other  one. 

They  began  to  discuss  the  Park. 

"  Papa  says  it  will  send  up  the  value  of  that  land  over 
there  enormously,"  said  Beatrice,  pointing  with  her  rib- 
boned sunshade  to  some  building  plots  which  lay  to  the 
north,  high  up  the  hill.  "  Mr.  Tellwright  owns  most  of 
that,  doesn't  he  ?  "  she  added  to  Anna. 

"  I  dare  say  he  does,"  said  Anna.  It  was  torture  to  her 
to  refer  to  her  father's  possessions. 

"  Of  course  it  will  be  covered  with  streets  in  a  few  months. 
Will  he  build  himself,  or  will  he  sell  it?  " 


THE  KINDLING  OF  LOVE  19 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea,"  Anna  answered,  with  an 
effort  after  gaiety  of  tone,  and  then  turned  aside  to  look 
at  the  crowd.  There,  close  against  the  bandstand,  stood 
her  father,  a  short,  stout,  ruddy,  middle-aged  man  in  a 
shabby  brown  suit.  He  recognised  her,  stared  fixedly,  and 
nodded  with  his  grotesque  and  ambiguous  grin.  Then  he 
sidled  off  towards  the  entrance  of  the  Park.  None  of  the 
others  had  seen  him. 

"  Agnes,  dear,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  we  must  go  now, 
or  we  shall  be  late  for  tea." 

As  the  two  women  said  good-bye  their  eyes  met,  and  in 
the  brief  second  of  that  encounter  each  tried  to  wring  from 
the  other  the  true  answer  to  a  question  which  lay  unuttered 
in  her  heart.  Then,  having  bidden  adieu  to  Mynors,  whose 
parting  glance  sang  its  own  song  to  her,  Anna  took  Agnes 
by  the  hand  and  left  him  and  Beatrice  together. 


II:    THE   MISER'S  DAUGHTER 

AJNA  sat  in  the  bay  window  of  the  front  parlour,  her 
accustomed  place  on  Sunday  evenings  in  summer, 
and  watched  Mr.  Tellwright  and  Agnes  disappear 
down  the  slope  of  Trafalgar  Road  on  their  way  to  chapel. 
Trafalgar  Road  is  the  long  thoroughfare  which,  under 
many  aliases,  runs  through  the  Five  Towns  from  end  to  end, 
uniting  them  as  a  river  might  unite  them.  Ephraim  Tell- 
wright could  remember  the  time  when  this  part  of  it  was 
a  country  lane,  flanked  by  meadows  and  market  gardens. 
Now  it  was  a  street  of  houses  up  to  and  beyond  Bleakridge, 
where  the  Tellwrights  lived;  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill 
the  houses  came  only  in  patches  until  the  far-stetching 
borders  of  Hanbridge  were  reached.  Within  the  municipal 
limits  Bleakridge  was  the  pleasantest  quarter  of  Bursley — 
Hillport,  abode  of  the  highest  fashion,  had  its  own  gov- 
ernment and  authority — and  to  reside  "  at  the  top  of  Tra- 
falgar Road  "  was  still  the  final  ambition  of  many  citi- 
zens, though  the  natural  growth  of  the  town  had  robbed 
Bleakridge  of  some  of  that  exclusive  distinction  which  it 
once  possessed.  Trafalgar  Road,  in  its  journey  to  Bleak- 
ridge from  the  centre  of  the  town,  underwent  certain 
changes  of  character.  First  came  a  succession  of  manu- 
factories and  small  shops;  then,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
rise,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  superior  cottages;  and  lastly, 
on  the  brow,  occurred  the  houses  of  the  comfortable-de- 

20 


THE   MISER'S   DAUGHTER        %         21 

tached,  semi-detached,  and  in  terraces,  with  rentals  from 
251.  to  601.  a  year.  The  Tellrights  lived  in  Manor  Terrace 
(the  name  being  a  last  reminder  of  the  great  farmstead 
which  formerly  occupied  the  western  hillside)  :  their  house, 
of  light  yellow  brick,  was  two-storied,  with  a  long  narrow 
garden  behind,  and  the  rent  30Z.  Exactly  opposite  was 
an  antique  red  mansion,  standing  back  in  its  own  ground 
— home  of  the  Mynors  family  for  two  generations,  but  now 
a  school,  the  Mynors  family  being  extinct  in  the  district 
save  for  one  member.  Somewhat  higher  up,  still  on  the 
opposite  side  to  Manor  Terrace,  came  an  imposing  row  of 
four  new  houses,  said  to  be  the  best  planned  and  best  built 
in  the  town,  each  erected  separately  and  occupied  by  its 
owner.  The  nearest  of  these  four  was  Councillor  Sutton's, 
valued  at  601.  a  year.  Lower  down,  below  Manor  Terrace 
and  on  the  same  side,  lived  the  Wesleyan  superintendent 
minister,  the  vicar  of  St.  Luke's  Church,  an  alderman,  and 
a  doctor. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock.  The  sun  shone,  but  gentlier ; 
and  the  earth  lay  cooling  in  the  mild,  pensive  effulgence 
of  a  summer  evening.  Even  the  onrush  of  the  steam-car, 
as  it  swept  with  a  gay  load  of  passengers  to  Hanbridge, 
seemed  to  be  chastened;  the  bell  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
chapel  sounded  like  the  bell  of  some  village  church  heard 
in  the  distance;  the  quick,  but  sober,  tramp  of  the  chapel- 
goers  fell  peacefully  on  the  ear.  The  sense  of  calm  in- 
creased, and,  steeped  in  this  meditative  calm,  Anna  from  the 
open  window  gazed  idly  down  the  perspective  of  the  road, 
which  ended  a  mile  away  in  the  dim  concave  forms  of  ovens 


22  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

suffused  in  a  pale  mist.  A  book  from  the  Free  Library  lay 
on  her  lap;  she  could  not  read  it.  She  was  conscious  of 
nothing  save  the  quiet  enchantment  of  reverie.  Her  mind, 
stimulated  by  the  emotions  of  the  afternoon,  broke  the  fet- 
ters of  habitual  self-discipline,  and  ranged  voluptuously 
free  over  the  whole  field  of  recollection  and  anticipation. 
To  remember,  to  hope:  that  was  sufficient  joy. 

In  the  dissolving  views  of  her  own  past,  from  which  the 
rigour  and  pain  seemed  to  have  mysteriously  departed,  the 
chief  figure  was  always  her  father — that  sinister  and  for- 
midable individuality,  whom  her  mind  hated,  but  her  heart 
disobediently  loved.  Ephraim  Tellwright  *  was  one  of  the 
most  extraordinary  and  most  mysterious  men  in  the  Five 
Towns.  The  outer  facts  of  his  career  were  known  to  all, 
for  his  riches  made  him  notorious ;  but  of  the  secret  and  inti- 
mate man  none  knew  anything  except  Anna,  and  what  little 
Anna  knew  had  come  to  her  by  divination  rather  than  dis- 
cernment. A  native  of  Hanbridge,  he  had  inherited  a  small 
fortune  from  his  father,  who  was  a  prominent  Wesleyan 
Methodist.  At  thirty,  owing  mainly  to  investments  in 
property  which  his  calling  of  potter's  valuer  had  helped  him 
to  choose  with  advantage,  he  was  worth  twenty  thousand 
pounds,  and  he  lived  in  lodgings  on  a  total  expenditure  of 
about  a  hundred  a  year.  When  he  was  thirty-five  he  sud- 
denly married,  without  any  perceptible  public  wooing,  the 
daughter  of  a  wood  merchant  at  Oldcastle,  and  shortly  after 
the  marriage  his  wife  inherited  from  her  father  a  sum  of 

*  Tellwright =ti}e-vrrlglit,  a  name  specially  characteristic  of,  and  pos- 
sibly originating  in,  this  clay-manufacturing  district. 


THE   MISER'S   DAUGHTER  23 

eighteen  thousand  pounds.  The  pair  lived  narrowly  in 
a  small  house  up  at  Pireford,  between  Hanbridge  and  Old- 
castle.  They  visited  no  one,  and  were  never  seen  together 
except  on  Sundays.  She  was  a  rosy-cheeked,  very  unassum- 
ing and  simple  woman,  who  smiled  easily  and  talked  with 
difficulty,  and  for  the  rest  lived  apparently  a  servile  life  of 
satisfaction  and  content.  After  five  years  Anna  was  born, 
and  in  another  five  years  Mrs.  Tellwright  died  of  erysipelas. 
The  widower  engaged  a  housekeeper ;  otherwise  his  existence 
proceeded  without  change.  No  stranger  visited  the  house, 
the  housekeeper  never  gossiped ;  but  tales  will  spread,  and 
people  fell  into  the  habit  of  regarding  Tellwright's  child 
and  his  housekeeper  with  commiseration. 

During  all  this  period  he  was  what  is  termed  "  a  good 
Wesleyan,"  preaching  and  teaching,  and  spending  him- 
self in  the  various  activities  of  Hanbridge  chapel.  For 
many  years  he  had  been  circuit  treasurer.  Among  Anna's 
earliest  memories  was  a  picture  of  her  father  arriving  late 
for  supper  one  Sunday  night  in  autumn  after  an  anniver- 
sary service,  and  pouring  out  on  the  white  table-cloth  the 
contents  of  numerous  chamois-leather  money-bags.  She  re- 
called the  surprising  dexterity  with  which  he  counted  the 
coins,  the  peculiar  smell  of  the  bags,  and  her  mother's  bland 
exclamation,  "  Eh,  Ephraim  !  "  Tellwright  belonged  by 
birth  to  the  Old  Guard  of  Methodism;  there  was  in  his 
family  a  tradition  of  holy  valour  for  the  pure  doctrine : 
his  father,  a  Bursley  man,  had  fought  in  the  fight  which 
preceded  the  famous  Primitive  Methodist  Secession  of  1808 
at  Bursley,  and  had  also  borne  a  notable  part  in  the  Warren 


24  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

affrays  of  '28,  and  the  disastrous  trouble  of  the  Fly-Sheets 
in  '49,  when  Methodism  lost  a  hundred  thousand  members. 
As  for  Ephraim,  he  expounded  the  mystery  of  the  Atone- 
ment in  village  conventicles  and  grew  garrulous  with  God 
at  prayer-meetings  in  the  big  Bethesda  chapel ;  but  he  did 
these  things  as  routine,  without  skill  and  without  enthu- 
siasm, because  they  gave  him  an  unassailable  position  within 
the  central  group  of  the  society.  He  was  not,  in  fact,  much 
smitten  with  either  the  doctrinal  or  the  spiritual  side  of 
Methodism.  His  chief  interest  lay  in  those  fiscal  schemes 
of  organisation  without  whose  aid  no  religious  propaganda 
can  possibly  succeed.  It  was  in  the  finance  of  salvation 
that  he  rose  supreme — the  interminable  alternation  of  debt- 
raising  and  new  liability  which  provides  a  lasting  excite- 
ment for  Nonconformists.  In  the  negotiation  of  mort- 
gages, the  artful  arrangement  of  the  incidence  of  collec- 
tions, the  manufacture  of  special  appeals,  the  planning  of 
anniversaries  and  of  mighty  revivals,  he  was  an  undisputed 
leader.  To  him  the  circuit  was  a  "  going  concern,"  and 
he  kept  it  in  motion,  serving  the  Lord  in  committee  and 
over  statements  of  account.  The  minister  by  his  pleading 
might  bring  sinners  to  the  penitent  form,  but  it  was 
Ephraim  Tellwright  who  reduced  the  cost  per  head  of  souls 
saved,  and  so  widened  the  frontiers  of  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven. 

Three  years  after  the  death  of  his  first  wife  it  was  ru- 
moured that  he  would  marry  again,  and  that  his  choice  had 
fallen  on  a  young  orphan  girl,  thirty  years  his  junior,  who 
"  assisted  "  at  the  stationer's  shop  where  he  bought  his  daily 


THE   MISER'S   DAUGHTER  25 

newspaper.  The  rumour  was  well-founded.  Anna,  then 
eight  years  of  age,  vividly  remembered  the  home-coming  of 
the  pale  wife,  and  her  own  sturdy  attempts  to  explain, 
excuse,  or  assuage  to  this  wistful  and  fragile  creature  the 
implacable  harshness  of  her  father's  temper.  Agnes  was 
born  within  a  year,  and  the  pale  girl  died  of  puerperal  fever. 
In  that  year  lay  a  whole  tragedy,  which  could  not  have  been 
more  poignant  in  its  perfection  if  the  year  had  been  a  thou- 
sand years.  Ephraim  promptly  re-engaged  the  old  house- 
keeper, a  course  which  filled  Anna  with  secret  childish  revolt, 
for  Anna  was  now  nine,  and  accomplished  in  all  domesticity. 
In  another  seven  years  the  housekeeper  died,  a  gaunt  grey 
ruin,  and  Anna  at  sixteen  became  mistress  of  the  house- 
hold, with  a  small  sister  to  cherish  and  control.  About 
this  time  Anna  began  to  perceive  that  her  father  was 
generally  regarded  as  a  man  of  great  wealth,  having 
few  rivals  in  the  entire  region  of  the  Five  Towns. 
Definite  knowledge,  however,  she  had  none;  he  never 
spoke  of  his  affairs;  she  knew  only  that  he  possessed 
houses  and  other  property  in  various  places,  that  he 
always  turned  first  to  the  money  article  in  the  newspaper, 
and  that  long  envelopes  arrived  for  him  by  post  almost 
daily.  But  she  had  once  heard  the  surmise  that  he  was 
worth  sixty  thousand  of  his  own,  apart  from  the  fortune 
of  his  first  wife,  Anna's  mother.  Nevertheless,  it  did  not 
occur  to  her  to  think  of  her  father,  in  plain  terms,  as  a  miser, 
until  one  day  she  happened  to  read  in  the  "  Staffordshire 
Signal  "  some  particulars  of  the  last  will  and  testament  of 
William  Wilbraham,  J.  P.,  who  had  just  died.  Mr.  Wil- 


26  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

braham  had  been  a  famous  magnate  and  benefactor  of  the 
Five  Towns ;  his  revered  name  was  in  every  mouth ;  he  had 
a  fine  seat,  Hillport  House,  at  Hillport;  and  his  superb 
horses  were  constantly  seen,  winged  and  nervous,  in  the 
streets  of  Bursley  and  Hanbridge.  The  "  Signal  "  said 
that  the  net  value  of  his  estate  was  sworn  at  fifty-nine  thou- 
sand pounds.  This  single  fact  added  a  definite  and  start- 
ling significance  to  figures  which  had  previously  conveyed 
nothing  to  Anna  except  an  idea  of  vastness.  The  crude 
contrast  between  the  things  of  Hillport  House  and  the 
things  of  the  six-roomed  abode  in  Manor  Terrace  gave  food 
for  reflection,  silent  but  profound. 

Tellwright  had  long  ago  retired  from  business,  and  three 
years  after  the  housekeeper  died  he  retired,  practically,  from 
religious  work,  to  the  grave  detriment  of  the  Hanbridge 
circuit.  In  reply  to  sorrowful  and  pained  questioners,  he 
said  merely  that  he  was  getting  old  and  needed  rest,  and 
that  there  ought  to  be  plenty  of  younger  men  to  fill  his 
shoes.  He  gave  up  everything  except  his  pew  in  the  chapel. 
The  circuit  was  astounded  by  this  sudden  defection  of  a 
class-leader,  a  local  preacher,  and  an  officer.  It  was  an 
inexplicable  fall  from  grace.  Yet  the  solution  of  the  prob- 
lem was  quite  simple.  Ephraim  had  lost  interest  in  his  re- 
ligious avocations;  they  had  ceased  to  amuse  him,  the  old 
ardour  had  cooled.  The  phenomenon  is  a  common  enough 
experience  with  men  who  have  passed  their  fiftieth  year — 
men,  too,  who  began  with  the  true  and  sacred  zeal  which 
Tellwright  never  felt.  The  difference  in  Tellwright's  case 
was  that,  characteristically,  he  at  once  j'ielded  to  the  new 


27 

instinct,  caring  naught  for  public  opinion.  Soon  after- 
wards, having  purchased  a  lot  of  cottage-property  in  Burs- 
ley,  he  decided  to  migrate  to  the  town  of  his  fathers.  He 
had  more  than  one  reason  for  doing  so,  but  perhaps  the  chief 
was  that  he  found  the  atmosphere  of  Hanbridge  Wesleyan 
chapel  rather  uncongenial.  The  exodus  from  it  was  his 
silent  and  malicious  retort  to  a  silent  rebuke. 

He  appeared  now  to  grow  younger,  discarding  in  some 
measure  a  certain  morose  taciturnity  which  had  hitherto 
marked  his  demeanour.  He  went  amiably  about  in  the  man- 
ner of  a  veteran  determined  to  enjoy  the  brief  existence  of 
life's  winter.  His  stout,  stiff,  deliberate  yet  alert  figure 
became  a  familiar  object  to  Bursley:  that  ruddy  face,  with 
its  small  blue  eyes,  smooth  upper  lip,  and  short  grey  beard 
under  the  smooth  chin,  seemed  to  pervade  the  streets,  offer- 
ing everywhere  the  conundrum  of  its  vague  smile.  Though 
no  friend  ever  crossed  his  doorstep,  he  had  dozens  of  ac- 
quaintances of  the  footpath.  He  was  not,  however,  a  facile 
talker,  and  he  seldom  gave  an  opinion ;  nor  were  his  remarks 
often  noticeably  shrewd.  He  existed  within  himself,  unre- 
vealed.  To  the  crowd,  of  course,  he  was  a  marvellous 
legend,  and  moving  always  in  the  glory  of  that  legend  he 
received  their  wondering  awe — an  awe  tinged  with  con- 
tempt for  his  lack  of  ostentation  and  public  splendour. 
Commercial  men  with  whom  he  had  transacted  business  liked 
to  discuss  his  abilities,  thus  disseminating  that  solid  respect 
for  him  which  had  sprung  from  a  personal  experience  of 
those  abilities,  and  which  not  even  the  shabbiness  of  his 
clothes  could  weaken. 


28  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Anna  was  disturbed  by  the  arrival  at  the  front  door  of 
the  milk-girl.  Alternately  with  her  father,  she  stayed  at 
home  on  Sunday  evenings,  partly  to  receive  the  evening 
milk  and  partly  to  guard  the  house.  The  Persian  cat  with 
one  ear  preceded  her  to  the  door  as  soon  as  he  heard  the 
clatter  of  the  can.  The  stout  little  milk-girl  dispensed  one 
pint  of  milk  into  Anna's  jug,  and  spilt  an  eleemosynary 
supply  on  the  step  for  the  cat.  "  He  does  like  it  fresh, 
miss,"  said  the  milk-girl,  smiling  at  the  greedy  cat,  and 
then,  with  a  "  Lovely  evenin',"  departed  down  the  street, 
one  fat  red  arm  stretched  horizontally  out  to  balance  the 
weight  of  the  can  in  the  other.  Anna  leaned  idly  against 
the  doorpost,  waiting  while  the  cat  finished,  until  at  length 
the  swaying  figure  of  the  milk-girl  disappeared  in  the  dip 
of  the  road.  Suddenly  she  darted  within,  shutting  the  door, 
and  stood  on  the  hall-mat  in  a  startled  attitude  of  dismay. 
She  had  caught  sight  of  Henry  Mynors  in  the  distance, 
approaching  the  house.  At  that  moment  the  kitchen  clock 
struck  seven,  and  Mynors,  according  to  the  rule  of  a  life- 
time, should  have  been  in  his  place  in  the  "  orchestra  "  (or, 
as  some  term  it,  the  "  singing-seat  " )  of  the  chapel,  where 
he  was  an  admired  baritone.  Anna  dared  not  conjecture 
what  impulse  had  led  him  into  this  extraordinary,  incredi- 
ble deviation.  She  dared  not  conjecture,  but  despite  her- 
self she  knew,  and  the  knowledge  shocked  her  sensitive  and 
peremptory  conscience.  Her  heart  began  to  beat  rapidly ; 
she  was  in  distress.  Aware  that  her  father  and  sister  had 
left  her  alone,  did  he  mean  to  call?  It  was  absolutely  im- 
possible, yet  she  feared  it,  and  blushed,  all  solitary  there 


THE   MISER'S   DAUGHTER  29 

in  the  passage,  for  shame.  Now  she  heard  his  sharp,  de- 
cided footsteps,  and  through  the  glazed  panels  of  the  door 
she  could  see  the  outline  of  his  form.  He  stopped ;  his  hand 
was  on  the  gate,  and  she  ceased  to  breathe.  He  pushed 
the  gate  open,  and  then,  at  the  whisper  of  some  blessed 
angel,  he  closed  it  again  and  continued  his  way  up  the  street. 
.  .  .  After  a  few  moments  Anna  carried  the  milk  into 
the  kitchen,  and  stood  by  the  dresser,  moveless,  each  muscle 
braced  in  the  intensity  of  profound  contemplation.  Grad- 
ually the  tears  rose  to  her  eyes  and  fell;  they  were  the 
tincture  of  a  strange  and  mystic  joy,  too  poignant  to  be 
endured.  As  it  were  under  compulsion  she  ran  outside,  and 
down  the  garden  path  to  the  low  wall  which  looked  over  the 
grey  fields  of  the  valley  up  to  Hillport.  Exactly  opposite, 
a  mile  and  a  half  away,  on  the  ridge,  was  Hillport  Church, 
dark  and  clear  against  the  orange  sky.  To  the  right,  and 
nearer,  lay  the  central  masses  of  the  town,  tier  on  tier  of 
richly-coloured  ovens  and  chimneys.  Along  the  field-paths 
couples  moved  slowly.  All  was  quiescent,  languorous,  beau- 
tiful in  the  glow  of  the  sun's  stately  declension.  Anna 
put  her  arms  on  the  wall.  Far  more  impressively  than  in 
the  afternoon  she  realised  that  this  was  the  end  of  one 
epoch  in  her  career  and  the  beginning  of  another.  En- 
thralled by  austere  traditions  and  that  stern  conscience  of 
hers,  she  had  never  permitted  herself  to  dream  of  the  pos- 
sibility of  an  escape  from  the  parental  servitude.  She  had 
never  looked  beyond  the  horizons  of  her  present  world,  but 
had  sought  spiritual  satisfaction  in  the  ideas  of  duty  and 
sacrifice.  The  worst  tyrannies  of  her  father  never  dulled 


30  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

the  sense  of  her  duty  to  him;  and,  without  perhaps  being 
aware  of  it,  she  had  rather  despised  love  and  the  dalliance 
of  the  sexes.  In  her  attitude  towards  such  things  there  had 
been  not  only  a  little  contempt,  but  also  some  disapproval, 
as  though  man  were  destined  for  higher  ends.  Now  she 
saw,  in  a  quick  revelation,  that  it  was  the  lovers,  and  not 
she,  who  had  the  right  to  scorn.  She  saw  how  miserably 
narrow,  tepid,  and  trickling  the  stream  of  her  life  had  been, 
and  had  threatened  to  be.  Now  it  gushed  forth  warm, 
impetuous,  and  full,  opening  out  new  and  delicious  vistas. 
She  lived ;  and  she  was  finding  the  sight  to  see,  the  courage 
to  enjoy.  Now,  as  she  leaned  over  the  wall,  she  would  not 
have  cared  if  Henry  Mynors  indeed  had  called  that  night. 
She  perceived  something  splendid  and  free  in  his  abandon- 
ment of  habit  and  discretion  at  the  bidding  of  a  desire.  To 
be  the  magnet  which  could  draw  that  pattern  and  exemplar 
"of  seemliness  from  the  strict  orbit  of  virtuous  custom !  It 
was  she,  the  miser's  shabby  daughter,  who  had  caused  this 
amazing  phenomenon.  The  thought  intoxicated  her. 
Without  the  support  of  the  wall  she  might  have  fallen.  In 
a  sort  of  trance  she  murmured  these  words :  "  He  loves  me." 

This  was  Anna  Tellwright,  the  ascetic,  the  prosaic,  the 
impassive. 

After  an  interval  which  to  her  was  as  much  like  a  minute 
as  a  century,  she  went  back  into  the  house.  As  she  entered 
by  the  kitchen  she  heard  an  impatient  knocking  at  the  front 
door. 

"  At  last,"  said  her  father  grimly,  when  she  opened  the 
door.  In  two  words  he  had  resumed  his  terrible  sway  over 


THE   MISER'S   DAUGHTER  31 

her.  Agnes  looked  timidly  from  one  to  the  other  and 
slipped  past  them  into  the  house. 

"  I  was  in  the  garden,"  Anna  explained.  "  Have  you 
been  here  long  ?  "  She  tried  to  smile  apologetically. 

"  Only  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  he  answered,  with  a 
grimness  still  more  portentous. 

"  He  won't  speak  again  to-night,"  she  thought  fearfully. 
But  she  was  mistaken.  After  he  had  carefully  hung  his 
best  hat  on  the  hat-rack,  he  turned  towards  her,  and  said, 
with  a  queer  smile: 

"  Ye've  been  day-dreaming,  eh,  Sis?  " 

"  Sis  "  was  her  pet  name,  used  often  by  Agnes,  but  by 
her  father  only  at  the  very  rarest  intervals.  She  was 
staggered  at  this  change  of  front,  so  unaccountable  in  this 
man,  who,  when  she  had  unwittingly  annoyed  him,  was  ca- 
pable of  keeping  an  awful  silence  for  days  together.  What 
did  he  know?  What  had  those  old  eyes  seen? 

"  I  forgot,"  she  stammered,  gathering  herself  together 
happily,  "  I  forgot  the  time."  She  felt  that  after  all  there 
was  a  bond  between  them  which  nothing  could  break — the 
tie  of  blood.  They  were  father  and  daughter,  united  by 
sympathies  obscure,  but  fundamental.  Kissing  was  not  in 
the  Tellwright  blood,  but  she  had  a  fleeting  wish  to  hug  the 
tyrant. 


Ill:  THE  BIRTHDAY 

THE  next  morning  there  was  no  outward  sign  that 
anything  unusual  had  occurred.  As  the  clock  in  the 
kitchen  struck  eight  Anna  carried  to  the  back  parlour 
a  tray  on  which  were  a  dish  of  bacon  and  a  coffee-pot. 
Breakfast  was  already  laid  for  three.  She  threw  a  house- 
keeper's glance  over  the  table,  and  called :  "  Father !  "  Mr. 
Tellwright  was  resetting  some  encaustic  tiles  in  the  lobby. 
He  came  in,  coatless,  and,  dropping  a  trowel  on  the  hearth, 
sat  down  at  the  end  of  the  table  nearest  the  fireplace.  Anna 
sat  opposite  to  him,  and  poured  out  the  coffee. 

On  the  dish  were  six  pieces  of  bacon.  He  put  one  piece 
on  a  plate,  and  set  it  carefully  in  front  of  Agnes's  vacant 
chair,  two  he  passed  to  Anna,  three  he  kept  for  himself  - 

"  Where's  Agnes  ?  "  he  enquired. 

"  Coming — she's  finishing  her  arithmetic." 

In  the  middle  of  the  table  was  an  unaccustomed  small 
jug  containing  gilliflowers.  Mr.  Tellwright  noticed  it 
instantly. 

"  What  an  we  gotten  here?  "  he  said,  indicating  the  jug. 

"  Agnes  gave  me  them  first  thing  when  she  got  up.  She's 
grown  them  herself,  you  know,"  Anna  said,  and  then  added : 
"  It's  my  birthday." 

"  Ay ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  trace  of  satire  in  his  voice. 
"  Thou'rt  a  woman  now,  lass." 

83 


THE   BIRTHDAY  33 

No  further  remark  on  that  matter  was  made  during  the 
meal. 

Agnes  ran  in,  all  pinafore  and  legs.  With  a  toss 
backwards  of  her  light  golden  hair  she  slipped  silently  into 
her  seat,  cautiously  glancing  at  the  master  of  the  house. 
Then  she  began  to  stir  her  coffee. 

"  Now,  young  woman,"  Tellwright  said  curtly. 

She  looked  a  startled  interrogative. 

"  Were  waiting,"  he  explained. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Agnes,  confused.  "  I  thought  you'd  said 
it.  *  God  sanctify  this  food  to  our  use  and  us  to  His  ser- 
vice for  Christ's  sake,  Amen.'  " 

The  breakfast  proceeded  in  silence.  Breakiast  at  eight, 
dinner  at  noon,  tea  at  four,  supper  at  eight:  all  the  meals 
in  this  house  occurred  with  absolute  precision  and  sameness. 
Mr.  Tellwright  seldom  spoke,  and  his  example  imposed 
silence  on  the  girls,  who  felt  as  nuns  feel  when  assisting  at 
some  grave,  but  monotonous  and  perfunctory  rite.  The 
room  was  not  a  cheerful  one  in  the  morning,  since  the  win- 
dow was  small  and  the  aspect  westerly.  Besides  the  table 
and  three  horse-hair  chairs,  the  furniture  consisted  of  an 
arm-chair,  a  bent-wood  rocking  chair,  and  a  sewing-ma- 
chine. A  fatigued  Brussels  carpet  covered  the  floor.  Over 
the  mantelpiece  was  an  engraving  of  "  The  Light  of  the 
World,"  in  a  frame  of  polished  brown  wood.  On  the  other 
walls  were  some  family  photographs  in  black  frames.  A  two- 
light  chandelier  hung  from  the  ceiling,  weighed  down  on 
one  side  by  a  patent  gas-saving  mantle  and  a  glass  shade; 
over  this  the  ceiling  was  deeply  discoloured.  On  either  side 


34  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE   TOWNS 

of  the  chimney-breast  were  cupboards  about  three  feet  high ; 
some  cardboard  boxes,  a  work-basket,  and  Agnes's  school 
books  lay  on  the  tops  of  these  cupboards.  On  the  window- 
sill  was  a  pot  of  mignonette  in  a  saucer.  The  window  was 
wide  open,  and  flies  buzzed  to  and  fro,  constantly  rebound- 
ing from  the  window  panes  with  terrible  thuds.  In  the 
blue-paved  yard  beyond  the  cat  was  licking  himself  in  the 
sunlight  with  an  air  of  being  wholly  absorbed  in  his  task. 

Mr.  Tellwright  demanded  a  second  and  last  cup  of 
coffee,  and  having  drunk  it  pushed  away  his  plate  as  a  sign 
that  he  had  finished.  Then  he  took  from  the  mantelpiece 
at  his  right  hand  a  bundle  of  letters  and  opened  them 
methodically.  When  he  had  arranged  the  correspondence 
in  a  flattened  pile,  he  put  on  his  steel-rimmed  spectacles 
and  began  to  read. 

"  Can  I  return  thanks,  father?  "  Agnes  asked,  and  he 
nodded,  looking  at  her  fixedly  over  his  spectacles. 

"  Thank  God  for  our  good  breakfast,  Amen." 

In  two  minutes  the  table  was  cleared,  and  Mr.  Tellwright 
was  alone.  As  he  read  laboriously  through  communications 
from  solicitors,  secretaries  of  companies,  and  tenants,  he 
could  hear  his  daughters  talking  together  in  the  kitchen. 
Anna  was  washing  the  breakfast  things  while  Agnes  wiped. 
Then  there  were  flying  steps  across  the  yard:  Agnes  had 
gone  to  school. 

After  he  had  mastered  his  correspondence,  Mr.  Tellwright 
took  up  the  trowel  again  and  finished  the  tile-setting  in  the 
lobby.  Then  he  resumed  his  coat,  and,  gathering  together 
the  letters  from  the  table  in  the  back  parlour,  went  into 


THE   BIRTHDAY  35 

the  front  parlour  and  shut  the  door.  This  room  was  his 
office.  The  principal  things  in  it  were  an  old  oak  bureau 
and  an  oak  desk-chair  which  had  come  to  him  from  his 
first  wife's  father ;  on  the  walls  were  some  sombre  landscapes 
in  oil,  received  from  the  same  source;  there  was  no  carpet 
on  the  floor,  and  only  one  other  chair.  A  safe  stood  in  the 
corner  opposite  the  door.  On  the  mantelpiece  were  some 
books — Woodfall's  "  Landlord  and  Tenant,"  Jordan's 
"  Guide  to  Company  Law,"  Whitaker's  Almanac,  and  a 
Gazetteer  of  the  Five  Towns.  Several  wire  files,  loaded 
with  papers,  hung  from  the  mantelpiece.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  a  mahogany  what-not  with  a  Bible  on  it,  which 
stood  in  front  of  the  window,  there  was  nothing  else  what- 
ever in  the  room.  He  sat  down  to  the  bureau  and  opened 
it,  and  took  from  one  of  the  pigeonholes  a  packet  of  various 
documents :  these  he  examined  one  by  one,  from  time  to  time 
referring  to  a  list.  Then  he  unlocked  the  safe  and  ex- 
tracted from  it  another  bundle  of  documents  which  had  evi- 
dently been  placed  ready.  With  these  in  his  hand,  he 
opened  the  door,  and  called  out : 

"  Anna." 

"  Yes,  father  " ;  her  voice  came  from  the  kitchen. 

"  I  want  ye." 

"  In  a  minute.     I'm  peeling  potatoes." 

When  she  came  in,  she  found  him  seated  at  the  bureau 
as  usual.     He  did  not  look  round. 

"  Yes,  father." 

She  stood  there  in  her  print  dress  and  white  apron,  full 
in  the  eye  of  the  sun,  waiting  for  him.     She  could  not 


36  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

guess  what  she  had  been  summoned  for.  As  a  rule,  she 
never  saw  her  father  between  breakfast  and  dinner.  At 
length  he  turned. 

"  Anna,"  he  said  in  his  harsh,  abrupt  tones,  and  then 
stopped  for  a  moment  before  continuing.  His  thick,  short 
fingers  held  the  list  which  he  had  previously  been  consulting. 
She  waited  in  bewilderment.  "  It's  your  birthday,  ye  told 
me.  I  hadna'  forgotten.  Ye're  of  age  to-day,  and  there's 
summat  for  ye.  Your  mother  had  a  fortune  of  her  own, 
and  under  your  grandfeyther's  will  it  comes  to  you  when 
you're  twenty-one.  I'm  th'  trustee.  Your  mother  had 
eighteen  thousand  pounds  i'  Government  stock."  He  laid 
a  slight  sneering  emphasis  on  the  last  two  words.  "  That 
was  near  twenty-five  year  ago.  I've  nigh  on  trebled  it  for 
ye,  what  wi'  good  investments  and  interest  accumulating. 
Thou'rt  worth  " — here  he  changed  to  the  second  personal 
singular,  a  habit  with  him — "  thou'rt  worth  this  day  as 
near  fifty  thousand  as  makes  no  matter,  Anna.  And  that's 
a  tidy  bit." 

"  Fifty  thousand — pounds!  "  she  exclaimed,  aghast. 

"  Ay,  lass." 

She  tried  to  speak  calmly.  "  Do  you  mean  it's  mine, 
father?" 

"  It's  thine,  under  thy  grandfeyther's  will — haven't  I 
told  thee?  I'm  bound  by  law  for  to  give  it  to  thee  this  day, 
and  thou  mun  give  me  a  receipt  in  due  form  for  the  secu- 
rities. Here  they  are,  and  here's  the  list.  Tak'  the  list, 
Anna,  and  read  it  to  me  while  I  check  off." 

She  mechanically  took  the  blue  paper  and  read : 


THE   BIRTHDAY  37 

"  Toft  End  Colliery  and  Brickworks  Limited,  five  hun- 
dred shares  of  ten  pounds." 

"  They  paid  ten  per  cent,  last  year,"  he  said,  "  and  with 
coal  up  as  it  is  they'll  pay  fiftane  this.  Let's  see  what 
thy  arithmetic  is  worth,  lass.  How  much  is  fiftane  per 
cent,  on  five  thousand  pun  ?  " 

"  Seven  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,"  she  said,  getting  the 
correct  answer  by  a  superhuman  effort  worthy  of  that  occa- 
sion. 

"Right,"  said  her  father,  pleased.  "Recollect  that's 
more  till  two  pun  a  day.  Go  on." 

"  North  Staffordshire  Railway  Company  ordinary  stock, 
ten  thousand  and  two  hundred  pounds." 

"  Right.  Th'  owd  North  Stafford's  getting  up  i'  the 
world.  It  '11  be  a  five  per  cent,  line  yet.  Then  thou  mun 
sell  out." 

She  had  only  a  vague  idea  of  his  meaning,  and  continued : 
"  Five  Towns  Waterworks  Company  Limited  consolidated 
stock,  eight  thousand  five  hundred  pounds." 

"  That's  a  tit-bit,  lass,"  he  interjected,  looking  absently 
over  his  spectacles  at  something  outside  in  the  road.  "  You 
canna'  pick  that  up  on  shardrucks." 

"  Norris's  Brewery  Limited,  six  hundred  ordinary  shares 
of  ten  pounds." 

"  Twenty  per  cent.,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Twenty 
per  cent,  regular."  He  made  no  attempt  to  conceal 
his  pride  in  these  investments.  And  he  had  the  right 
to  be  proud  of  them.  They  were  the  finest  in  the 
market,  the  aristocracy  of  investments,  based  on  commer- 


38  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

cial  enterprises  of  which  every  business  man  in  the  Five 
Towns  knew  the  entire  soundness.  They  conferred  dis- 
tinction on  the  possessor,  like  a  great  picture  or  a  rare 
volume.  They  stifled  all  questions  and  insinuations.  Put 
before  any  jury  of  the  Five  Towns  as  evidence  of  character, 
they  would  almost  have  exculpated  a  murderer. 

Anna  continued  reading  the  list,  which  seemed  endless: 
long  before  she  had  reached  the  last  item  her  brain  was  a 
menagerie  of  monstrous  figures.  The  list  included,  besides 
all  sorts  of  shares  English  and  American,  sundry  properties 
in  the  Five  Towns,  and  among  these  was  the  earthenware 
manufactory  in  Edward  Street  occupied  by  Titus  Price,  the 
Sunday-school  superintendent.  Anna  was  a  little  alarmed 
to  find  herself  the  owner  of  this  works;  she  knew  that  her 
father  had  had  some  difficult  moments  with  Titus  Price, 
and  that  the  property  was  not  without  grave  disadvantages. 

"  That's  all?  "  Tellwright  asked,  at  length. 

"  That's  all." 

"  Total  face  value,"  he  went  on,  "  as  I  value  it,  forty- 
eight  thousand  and  fifty  pounds,  producing  a  net  annual 
income  of  three  thousand  two  hundred  and  ninety  pounds 
or  thereabouts.  There's  not  many  in  this  district  as  'as 
gotten  that  to  their  names,  Anna — no,  nor  half  that — let 
'em  be  who  they  will." 

Anna  had  sensations  such  as  a  child  might  have  who  has 
received  a  traction-engine  to  play  with  in  a  back-yard. 
"  What  am  I  to  do  with  it?  "  she  asked  plaintively. 

"  Do  wi'  it?  "  he  repeated,  and  stood  up  and  faced  her, 
putting  his  lips  together :  "  Do  wi'  it,  did  ye  say  ?  " 


THE   BIRTHDAY  39 

"  Yes." 

"  Tak'  care  on  it,  my  girl.  Tak'  care  on  it.  And  re- 
member it's  thine.  Thou  mun  sign  this  list,  and  all  these 
transfers  and  fal-fals,  and  then  thou  mun  go  to  th'  Bank, 
and  tell  Mester  Lovatt  I've  sent  thee.  There's  four  hun- 
dred pound  there.  He'll  give  thee  a  cheque-book.  I've 
told  him  all  about  it.  Thou'lt  have  thy  own  account,  and 
be  sure  thou  keeps  it  straight." 

"  I  shan't  know  a  bit  what  to  do,  father,  and  so  it's  no 
use  talking,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  I'll  learn  ye,"  he  replied.  "  Here,  tak'  th'  pen,  and 
let's  have  thy  signature." 

She  signed  her  name  many  times  and  put  her  finger  on 
many  seals.  Then  Tellwright  gathered  up  everything 
into  a  bundle,  and  gave  it  to  her  to  hold. 

"  That's  the  lot,"  he  said.     "  Have  ye  gotten  'em  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

They  both  smiled  self-consciously.  As  for  Tellwright, 
he  was  evidently  impressed  by  the  grandeur  of  this  superb 
renunciation  on  his  part.  "  Shall  I  keep  'em  for  ye?  " 

"  Yes,  please." 

"  Then  give  'em  me." 

He  took  back  all  the  documents. 

"  When  shall  I  call  at  the  Bank,  father? 

"  Better  call  this  afternoon — afore  three,  mind  ye." 

"  Very  well.     But  I  shan't  know  what  to  do." 

"  You've  gotten  a  tongue  i'  that  noddle  of  yours,  haven't 
ye  ?  "  he  said.  "  Now  go  and  get  along  wi'  them  po- 
tatoes." 


40  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

Anna  returned  to  the  kitchen.  She  felt  no  elation  or  fer- 
ment of  any  kind ;  she  had  not  begun  to  realise  the  signifi- 
cance of  what  had  occurred.  Like  the  soldier  whom  a  bullet 
has  struck,  she  only  knew  vaguely  that  something  had  oc- 
curred. She  peeled  the  potatoes  with  more  than  her  usual 
thrifty  care;  the  peel  was  so  thin  as  to  be  almost  trans- 
parent. It  seemed  to  her  that  she  could  not  arrange  or 
examine  her  emotions  until  after  she  had  met  Henry  Mynors 
again.  More  than  anything  else  she  wished  to  see  him:  it 
was  as  if  out  of  the  mere  sight  of  him  something  definite 
might  emerge;  as  if,  when  her  eyes  had  rested  on  him,  and 
not  before,  she  might  perceive  some  simple  solution  of 
the  problems  which  she  obscurely  discerned  ahead  of 
her. 

During  dinner  a  boy  brought  a  note  for  her  father.  He 
read  it,  snorted,  and  threw  it  across  the  table  to  Anna. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  "  that's  your  affair." 

The  letter  was  from  Titus  Price :  it  said  that  he  was  sorry 
to  be  compelled  to  break  his  promise,  but  it  was  quite  impos- 
sible for  him  to  pay  twenty  pounds  on  account  of  rent  that 
day.  He  would  endeavour  to  pay  at  least  twenty  pounds 
in  a  week's  time. 

"  You'd  better  call  there,  after  you've  been  to  th'  Bank," 
said  Tellwright,  "  and  get  summat  out  of  him,  if  it's  only 
ten  pun." 

"  Must  I  go  to  Edward  Street?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  am  I  to  say  ?     I've  never  been  there  before." 

"  Well,  it's  high  time  as  ye  began  to  look  after  your 


THE   BIRTHDAY  41 

own  property.  You  mun  see  owd  Price,  and  tell  him  ye 
cannot  accept  any  excuses." 

"  How  much  does  he  owe." 

"  He  owes  ye  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  pun  altogether — 
he's  five  quarters  in  arrear." 

"  A  hundred  and !  Well,  I  never !  "  Anna  was 

aghast.  The  sum  appeared  larger  to  her  than  all  the  thou- 
sands and  tens  of  thousands  which  she  had  received  in  the 
morning.  She  reflected  that  the  weekly  bills  of  the  house- 
hold amounted  to  about  a  sovereign,  and  that  the  total  of 
this  debt  of  Price's  would  therefore  keep  them  in  food  for 
two  years.  The  idea  of  being  in  debt  was  abhorrent  to  her. 
She  could  not  conceive  how  a  man  who  was  in  debt  could 
sleep  at  nights.  "  Mr.  Price  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  him- 
self," she  said  warmly.  "  I'm  sure  he's  quite  able  to  pay." 
The  image  of  the  sleek  and  stout  superintendent  of  the 
Sunday-school,  arrayed  in  his  rich,  almost  voluptuous, 
broadcloth,  offended  her  profoundly.  That  he,  debtor  and 
promise-breaker,  should  have  the  effrontery  to  pray  for 
the  souls  of  children,  to  chastise  their  petty  furtive  crimes, 
was  nearly  incredible. 

"  Oh!  Price  is  all  right,"  her  father  remarked,  with  an 
apparent  benignity  which  surprised  her.  "  He'll  pay  when 
he  can." 

"  I  think  it's  a  shame,"  she  repeated  emphatically. 

Agnes  looked  with  a  mystified  air  from  one  to  the  other, 
instinctively  divining  that  something  very  extraordinary 
had  happened  during  her  absence  at  school. 

"  Ye  mun'na  be  too  hard,  Anna,"  said  Tellwright.  "  Sup- 


42  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

posing  ye  sold  owd  Titus  up?  When  then?  D'ye  reckon 
ye'd  get  a  tenant  for  them  ramshackle  works?  A  thou- 
sand pound  spent  would'na  'tice  a  tenant.  That  Edward 
Street  property  was  one  o'  ye  grandfeyther's  specs; 
'twere  none  o'  mine.  You'd  best  tak'  what  ye  can 
get." 

Anna  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  herself,  not  because  of 
her  bad  policy,  but  because  she  saw  that  Mr.  Price  might 
have  been  handicapped  by  the  faults  of  her  property. 

That  afternoon  it  was  a  shy  and  timid  Anna  who  swung 
back  the  heavy  polished  and  glazed  portals  of  the  Bursley 
branch  of  the  Birmingham,  Sheffield  and  District  Bank,  the 
opulent  and  spacious  erection  which  stands  commandingly 
at  the  top  of  St.  Luke's  Square.  She  looked  about  her 
across  broad  counters,  enormous  ledgers,  and  rows  of  bent 
heads,  and  wondered  whom  she  should  address.  Then  a 
bearded  gentleman,  who  was  weighing  gold  in  a  balance, 
caught  sight  of  her:  he  slid  the  gold  into  a  drawer,  and 
whisked  round  the  end  of  the  counter  with  a  celerity  which 
was,  at  any  rate,  not  born  of  practice,  for  he,  the  cashier, 
had  not  done  such  a  thing  for  years. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Miss  Tcllwright." 

"  Good-afternoon.     I — 

"  May  I  trouble  you  to  step  into  the  manager's  room  ?  " 
and  he  drew  her  forward,  while  every  clerk's  eye  watched. 
Anna  tried  not  to  blush,  but  she  could  feel  the  red  mount- 
ing even  to  her  temples. 

"  Delightful  weather  we're  having.  But  of  course  we've 
the  right  to  expect  it  at  this  time  of  year,"  He  opened 


THE   BIRTHDAY  43 

a  door  on  the  glass  of  which  was  painted  "  Manager,"  and 
bowed.  "  Mr.  Lovatt— Miss  Tellwright." 

Mr.  Lovatt  greeted  his  new  customer  with  a  formal  and 
rather  fatigued  politeness,  and  invited  her  to  sit  in  a  large 
leather  armchair  in  front  of  a  large  table ;  on  this  table  lay 
a  large  open  book.  Anna  had  once  in  her  life  been  to  the 
dentist's;  this  interview  reminded  her  of  that  experience. 

"  Your  father  told  me  I  might  expect  you  to-day,"  said 
Mr.  Lovatt  in  his  high-pitched,  perfunctory  tones.  Rich- 
ard Lovatt  was  probably  the  most  influential  man  in  Burs- 
ley.  Every  Saturday  morning  he  irrigated  the  whole  town 
with  fertilising  gold.  By  a  single  negative  he  could  have 
ruined  scores  of  upright  merchants  and  manufacturers. 
He  had  only  to  stop  a  man  in  the  street  and  murmur,  "  By 

the  way,  your  overdraft ,"  in  order  to  spread  discord 

and  desolation  through  a  refined  and  pious  home.  His 
estimate  of  human  nature  was  falsified  by  no  common  illu- 
sions; he  had  the  impassive  and  frosty  gaze  of  a  criminal 
judge.  Many  men  deemed  they  had  cause  to  hate  him, 
but  no  one  did  hate  him :  all  recognised  that  he  was  set  far 
above  hatred. 

"  Kindly  sign  your  full  name  here,"  he  said,  pointing  to 
a  spot  on  the  large  open  page  of  the  book,  "  and  your 
ordinary  signature,  which  you  will  attach  to  cheques, 
here." 

Anna  wrote,  but  in  doing  so  she  became  aware  that  she 
had  no  ordinary  signature;  she  was  obliged  to  invent  one. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  draw  anything  out  now  ?  There  is 
already  a  credit  of  four  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  in  your 


44  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

favour,"  said  Mr.  Lovatt,  after  he  had  handed  her  a 
cheque-book,  a  deposit-book,  and  a  pass-book. 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you,"  Anna  answered  quickly.  She 
keenly  desired  some  money,  but  she  well  knew  that  courage 
would  fail  her  to  demand  it  without  her  father's  consent; 
moreover,  she  was  in  a  whirl  of  uncertainty  as  to  the  uses 
of  the  three  books,  though  Mr.  Lovatt  had  expounded  them 
severally  to  her  in  simple  language. 

"  Good-day,  Miss  Tellwright." 

"  Good-day." 

"  My  compliments  to  your  father." 

His  final  glance  said  half  cynically,  half  in  pity :  "  You 
are  nai've  and  unspoilt  now,  but  these  eyes  will  see  yours 
harden  like  the  rest.  Wretched  victim  of  gold,  you  are 
only  one  in  a  procession,  after  all." 

Outside,  Anna  thought  that  everyone  had  been  very 
agreeable  to  her.  Her  complacency  increased  at  a  bound. 
She  no  longer  felt  ashamed  of  her  shabby  cotton  dress. 
She  surmised  that  people  would  find  it  convenient  to  ignore 
any  difference  which  might  exist  between  her  costume  and 
that  of  other  girls. 

She  went  on  to  Edward  Street,  a  short  steep  thorough- 
fare at  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  town,  leading  into  a 
rough  road  across  unoccupied  land  dotted  with  the  mouths  of 
abandoned  pits :  this  road  climbed  up  to  Toft  End,  a  mean 
annex  of  the  town,  about  half  a  mile  east  of  Bleakridge. 
From  Toft  End,  lying  on  the  highest  hill  in  the  district, 
one  had  a  panoramic  view  of  Hanbridge  and  Bursley,  with 
Hillport  to  the  west,  and  all  the  moorland  and  mining  vil- 


THE   BIRTHDAY  45 

lages  to  the  north  and  northeast.  Titus  Price  and  his  son 
lived  in  what  had  once  been  a  farmhouse  at  Toft  End; 
every  morning  and  evening  they  traversed  the  desolate  and 
featureless  grey  road  between  their  dwelling  and  the 
works. 

Anna  had  never  been  in  Edward  Street  before.  It  was 
a  miserable  quarter — two  rows  of  blackened  infinitesimal 
cottages,  and  her  manufactory  at  the  end — a  frontier  post 
of  the  town.  Price's  works  was  small,  old-fashioned,  and 
out  of  repair — one  of  those  properties  which  are  forlorn 
from  the  beginning,  which  bring  despair  into  the  hearts  of 
a  succession  of  owners,  and  which,  being  ultimately  de- 
serted, seem  to  stand  forever  in  pitiable  ruin.  The  arched 
entrance  for  carts  into  the  yard  was  at  the  top  of  the  steep- 
est rise  of  the  street,  when  it  might  as  well  have  been  at 
the  bottom ;  and  this  was  but  one  example  of  the  architect's 
fine  disregard  for  the  principle  of  economy  in  working — 
that  principle  to  which,  in  the  scheming  of  manufactories, 
everything  else  is  now  so  strictly  subordinated.  Ephraim 
Tellwright  used  to  say  (but  not  to  Titus  Price)  that  the 
situation  of  that  archway  cost  five  pounds  a  year  in 
horseflesh,  and  that  five  pounds  was  the  interest  on  a 
hundred.  The  place  was  badly  located,  badly  planned, 
and  badly  constructed.  Its  faults  defied  improvement. 
Titus  Price  remained  in  it  only  because  he  was  chained 
there  by  arrears  of  rent ;  Tellwright  hesitated  to  sell  it  only 
because  the  rent  was  a  hundred  a  year,  and  the  whole  free- 
hold would  not  have  fetched  eight  hundred.  He  promised 
repairs  in  exchange  for  payment  of  arrears  which  he  knew 


46  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

would  never  be  paid,  and  his  policy  was  to  squeeze  the  last 
penny  out  of  Price  without  forcing  him  into  bankruptcy. 
Such  was  the  predicament  when  Anna  assumed  ownership. 
As  she  surveyed  the  irregular  and  huddled  frontage  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  her  first  feeling  was  one  of 
depression  at  the  broken  and  dirty  panes  of  the  windows. 
A  man  in  shirt-sleeves  was  standing  on  the  weighing  plat- 
form under  the  archway ;  his  back  was  towards  her,  but  she 
could  see  the  smoke  issuing  in  puffs  from  his  pipe.  She 
crossed  the  road.  Hearing  her  footfalls,  the  man  turned 
round:  it  was  Titus  Price  himself.  He  was  wearing  an 
apron,  but  no  cap ;  the  sleeves  of  his  shirt  were  rolled  up, 
exposing  forearms  covered  with  auburn  hair.  His  puffed, 
heavy  face,  and  general  bigness  and  untidiness,  gave  the 
idea  of  a  vast  and  torpid  male  slattern.  Anna  was 
astounded  by  the  contrast  between  the  Titus  of  Sunday 
and  the  Titus  of  Monday :  a  single  glance  compelled  her  to 
readjust  all  her  notions  of  the  man.  She  stammered  a 
greeting,  and  he  replied,  and  then  they  were  both  silent  for 
a  moment:  in  the  pause  Mr.  Price  thrust  his  pipe  between 
apron  and  waistcoat. 

"  Come  inside,  Miss  Tellwright,"  he  said,  with  a  sickly, 
conciliatory  smile.  "  Come  into  the  office,  will  ye?  " 

She  followed  him  without  a  word  through  the  archway. 
To  the  right  was  an  open  door  into  the  packing-house,  where 
a  man,  surrounded  by  straw,  was  packing  basins  in  a  crate : 
with  swift,  precise  movements,  twisting  straw  between  basin 
and  basin,  he  forced  piles  of  ware  into  a  space  inconceivably 
small.  Mr.  Price  lingered  to  watch  him  for  a  few  seconds, 


THE   BIRTHDAY  47 

and  passed  on.  They  were  in  the  yard,  a  small  quadrangle 
paved  with  black,  greasy  mud.  In  one  corner  a  load  of 
coal  had  been  cast ;  in  another  lay  a  heap  of  broken  saggars. 
Decrepit  doorways  led  to  the  various  "  shops "  on  the 
ground  floor ;  those  on  the  upper  floor  were  reached  by  nar- 
row wooden  stairs,  which  seemed  to  cling  insecurely  to  the 
exterior  walls.  Up  one  of  these  stairways  Mr.  Price 
climbed  with  heavy,  elephantine  movements:  Anna  pru- 
dently waited  till  he  had  reached  the  top  before  beginning 
to  ascend.  He  pushed  open  a  flimsy  door,  and  with  a  nod 
bade  her  enter.  The  office  was  a  long,  narrow  room,  the 
dirtiest  that  Anna  had  ever  seen.  If  such  was  the  condi- 
tion of  the  master's  quarters,  she  thought,  what  must  the 
workshops  be  like?  The  ceiling,  which  bulged  downwards, 
was  as  black  as  the  floor,  which  sank  away  in  the  middle 
till  it  was  hollow  like  a  saucer.  The  revolution  of  an 
engine  somewhere  below  shook  everything  with  a  periodic 
muffled  thud.  A  greyish  light  came  through  one  small 
window.  By  the  window  was  a  large  double  desk,  with 
chairs  facing  each  other.  One  of  these  chairs  was  occupied 
by  Willie  Price.  The  youth  did  not  observe  at  first  that 
another  person  had  come  in  with  his  father.  He  was  cast- 
ing up  figures  in  an  account  book,  and  murmuring  numbers 
to  himself.  He  wore  an  office  coat,  short  at  the  wrists  and 
torn  at  the  elbows,  and  a  battered  felt  hat  was  thrust  far 
back  over  his  head,  so  that  the  brim  rested  on  his  dirty  collar. 
He  turned  round  at  length,  and,  on  seeing  Anna,  blushed 
brilliant  crimson,  and  rose,  scraping  the  legs  of  his  chair 
horridly  across  the  floor.  Tall,  thin,  and  ungainly  in  every 


48  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

motion,  he  had  the  look  of  a  ninny :  it  was  the  fact  that  at 
school  all  the  boys  by  a  common  instinct  had  combined  to 
tease  him,  and  that  on  the  works  the  young  paintresses  con- 
tinually made  private  sport  of  him.  Anna,  however,  had 
not  the  least  impulse  to  mock  him  in  her  thoughts.  For 
her  there  was  nothing  in  his  blue  eyes  but  simplicity  and 
good  intentions.  Beside  him  she  felt  old,  sagacious, 
crafty ;  it  seemed  to  her  that  someone  ought  to  shield  that 
transparent  and  confiding  soul  from  his  father  and  the  in- 
triguing world. 

He  spoke  to  her  and  lifted  his  hat,  holding  it  afterwards 
in  his  great  bony  hand. 

"  Get  down  to  th'  entry,  Will,"  said  his  father,  and 
Willie,  with  an  apologetic  sort  of  cough,  slipped  silently 
away  through  the  door. 

"  Sit  down,  Miss  Tellwright,"  said  old  Price,  and  she 
took  the  windsor  chair  that  had  been  occupied  by  Willie. 
Her  tenant  fell  into  the  seat  opposite — a  leathern  chair  from 
which  the  stuffing  had  exuded,  and  with  one  of  its  arms 
broken.  "  I  hear  as  ye  father  is  going  into  partnership 
with  young  Mynors — Henry  Mynors." 

Anna  started  at  this  surprising  item  of  news,  which  was 
entirely  fresh  to  her.  "  Father  has  said  nothing  to  me 
about  it,"  she  replied  coldly. 

"  Oh !  Happen  I've  said  too  much.  If  so,  you'll  excuse 
me,  miss.  A  smart  fellow,  Mynors.  Now  you  should  see 
his  little  works :  not  very  much  bigger  than  this,  but  there's 
everything  you  can  think  of  there — all  the  latest  machin- 
ery and  dodges,  and  not  over-rented,  I'm  told.  The  big- 


THE   BIRTHDAY  49 

gest  fool  i'  Bursley  couldn't  help  but  make  money  there. 
This  'ere  works  'ere,  Miss  Tellwright,  wants  mendin'  with  a 
new  'un." 

"  It  looks  very  dirty,  I  must  say,"  said  Anna. 

"  Dirty  !  "  he  laughed — a  short,  acrid  laugh — "  I  sup- 
pose you've  called  about  the  rent." 

"  Yes,  father  asked  me  to  call." 

"  Let  me  see,  this  place  belongs  to  you  i'  your  own  right, 
doesn't  it,  miss  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Anna.  "  It's  mine — from  my  grandfather, 
you  know." 

"  Ah !  Well,  I'm  sorry  for  to  tell  ye  as  I  can't  pay  any- 
thing now — no,  not  a  cent.  But  I'll  pay  twenty  pounds 
in  a  week.  Tell  ye  father  I'll  pay  twenty  pounds  in  a 
week." 

"  That's  what  you  said  last  week,"  Anna  remarked,  with 
more  brusqueness  than  she  had  intended.  At  first  she  was 
fearful  at  her  own  temerity  in  thus  addressing  a  superin- 
tendent of  the  Sunday-school;  then,  as  nothing  happened, 
she  felt  reassured,  and  strong  in  the  justice  of  her  position. 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted  obsequiously.  "  But  I've  been 
disappointed.  One  of  our  best  customers  put  us  off,  to  tell 
ye  the  truth.  Money's  tight,  very  tight.  It's  got  to  be 
give  and  take  in  these  days,  as  ye  father  knows.  And 
I  may  as  well  speak  plain  to  ye,  Miss  Tellwright.  We 
canna'  stay  here;  we  shall  be  compelled  to  give  ye  notice. 
What's  amiss  with  this  bank*  is  that  it  wants  pullin'  down." 
He  went  off  into  a  rapid  enumeration  of  ninety  and  nine 
*  Bank  =  manufactory. 


50  ANNA  OF  THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

alterations  and  repairs  that  must  be  done  without  the  loss 
of  a  moment,  and  concluded :  "  You  tell  ye  father  what  I've 
told  ye,  and  say  as  I'll  send  up  twenty  pounds  next  week. 
I  can't  pay  anything  now;  I've  nothing  by  me  at  all." 

"  Father  said  particularly  I  was  to  be  sure  and  get  some- 
thing on  account."  There  was  a  flinty  hardness  in  her 
tone  which  astonished  herself  perhaps  more  than  Titus 
Price.  A  long  pause  followed,  and  then  Mr.  Price  drew  a 
breath,  seeming  to  nerve  himself  to  a  tremendous  sacrificial 
deed. 

"  I  tell  ye  what  I'll  do.  I'll  give  ye  ten  pounds  now, 
and  I'll  do  what  I  can  next  week.  I'll  do  what  I  can. 
There!" 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Anna.  She  was  amazed  at  her  suc- 
cess. 

He  unlocked  the  desk,  and  his  head  disappeared  under  the 
lifted  lid.  Anna  gazed  through  the  window.  Like  many 
women,  and  not  a  few  men,  in  the  Five  Towns,  she  was 
wholly  ignorant  of  the  staple  manufacture.  The  interior 
of  a  works  was  almost  as  strange  to  her  as  it  would  have 
been  to  a  farm-hand  from  Sussex.  A  girl  came  out  of  a 
door  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  quadrangle:  the  creature 
was  clothed  in  clayey  rags,  and  carried  on  her  right  shoul- 
der a  board  laden  with  biscuit*  cups.  She  began  to  mount 
one  of  the  wooden  stairways,  and  as  she  did  so  the  board, 
six  feet  in  length,  swayed  alarmingly  to  and  fro.  Anna 
expected  to  see  it  fall  with  a  destructive  crash,  but  the  girl 
went  up  in  safety,  and  with  a  nonchalant  jerk  of  the  shoul- 
*  Biscuit  =  a  term  applied  to  ware  which  has  been  fired  only  once. 


THE   BIRTHDAY  51 

der  aimed  the  end  of  the  board  through  another  door  and 
vanished  from  sight.  To  Anna  it  was  a  thrilling  feat,  but 
she  noticed  that  a  man  who  stood  in  the  yard  did  not  even 
turn  his  head  to  watch  it.  Mr.  Price  recalled  her  to  the 
business  of  her  errand. 

"  Here's  two  fives,"  he  said,  shutting  down  the  desk  with 
the  sigh  of  a  crocodile. 

"  Liar !  You  said  you  had  nothing !  "  her  unspoken 
thought  ran,  and  at  the  same  instant  the  Sunday-school  and 
everything  connected  with  it  grievously  sank  in  her  estima- 
tion ;  she  contrasted  this  scene  with  that  on  the  previous 
day  with  the  peccant  schoolgirl:  it  was  an  hour  of  disillu- 
sion. Taking  the  notes,  she  gave  a  receipt  and  rose  to  go. 

"  Tell  ye  father  " — it  seemed  to  Anna  that  this  phrase 
was  always  on  his  lips — "  tell  ye  father  he  must  come  down 
and  look  at  the  state  this  place  is  in,"  said  Mr.  Price,  en- 
heartened  by  the  heroic  payment  of  ten  pounds.  Anna  said 
nothing;  she  thought  a  fire  would  do  more  good  than  any- 
thing else  to  the  foul,  squalid  buildings :  the  passing  fancy 
coincided  with  Mr.  Price's  secret  and  most  intense  desire. 

Outside  she  saw  Willie  Price  superintending  the  lifting 
of  a  crate  on  to  a  railway  lorry.  After  twirling  in  the  air, 
the  crate  sank  safely  into  the  waggon.  Young  Price  was 
perspiring. 

"  Warm  afternoon,  Miss  Tellwright,"  he  called  to  her 
as  she  passed,  with  his  pleasant,  bashful  smile.  She  gave  an 
affirmative.  Then  he  came  to  her,  still  smiling,  his  face  full 
of  an  intention  to  say  something,  however  insignificant, 


62  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  I  suppose  you'll  be  at  the  special  teachers'  meeting 
to-morrow  night,"  he  remarked. 

"  I  hope  to  be,"  she  said.  That  was  all :  William  had 
achieved  his  small-talk:  they  parted. 

"  So  father  and  Mr.  Mynors  are  going  into  partnership," 
she  kept  saying  to  herself  on  the  way  home. 


IV:  A  VISIT 

THE  Special  Teachers'  Meeting  to  which  Willie 
Price  had  referred  was  one  of  the  final  preliminaries 
to  a  Revival — that  is,  a  revival  of  godliness  and 
Christian  grace — about  to  be  undertaken  by  the  Wesleyan 
Methodist  Society  in  Bursley.  Its  object  was  to  arrange 
for  a  personal  visitation  of  the  parents  of  Sunday-school 
scholars  in  their  homes.  Hitherto  Anna  had  felt  but  little 
interest  in  the  Revival :  it  had  several  times  been  brought  in- 
directly before  her  notice,  but  she  had  regarded  it  as  a  phe- 
omenon  which  recurred  at  intervals  in  the  cycle  of  religious 
activity,  and  as  not  in  any  way  affecting  herself.  The 
gradual  centring  of  public  interest,  however — that  mysteri- 
ous movement  which,  defying  analysis,  gathers  force  as  it 
proceeds,  and  ends  by  coercing  the  most  indifferent — had 
already  modified  her  attitude  towards  this  forthcoming 
event.  It  got  about  that  the  preacher  who  had  been  en- 
gaged, a  specialist  in  revivals,  was  a  man  of  miraculous 
powers:  the  number  of  souls  which  he  had  snatched  from 
eternal  torment  was  precisely  stated,  and  it  amounted  to  tens 
of  thousands.  He  played  the  cornet  to  the  glory  of  God, 
and  his  cornet  was  of  silver :  his  more  distant  past  had  been 
ineffably  wicked,  and  the  faint  rumour  of  that  dead  wicked- 
ness clung  to  his  name  like  a  piquant  odour.  As  Anna 
walked  up  Trafalgar  Road  from  Price's  she  observed  that 
the  hoardings  had  been  billed  with  great  posters  announc- 

53 


54  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

ing  the  Revival  and  the  revivalist,  who  was  to  commence  his 
work  on  Friday  night. 

During  tea  Mr.  Tellwright  interrupted  his  perusal  of  the 
evening  "  Signal "  to  give  utterance  to  a  rather  remark- 
able speech. 

"  Bless  us !  "  he  said.  "  Th'  old  trumpeter  '11  turn  the 
town  upside  down !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  the  revivalist,  father  ?  "  Anna  asked. 

"  Ay !  " 

"  He's  a  beautiful  man,"  Agnes  exclaimed  with  enthus- 
iasm. "  Our  teacher  showed  us  his  portrait  after  school 
this  afternoon.  I  never  saw  such  a  beautiful  man." 

Her  father  gazed  hard  at  the  child  for  an  instant,  cup  in 
hand,  and  then  turned  to  Anna  with  a  slightly  sardonic 
air. 

"  What  are  you  doing  i'  this  Revival,  Anna?  " 

"  Nothing,"  she  said.  "  Only  there's  a  teachers'  meet- 
ing about  it  to-morrow  night,  and  I  have  to  go  to  that. 
Young  Mr.  Price  mentioned  it  to  me  specially  to-day." 

A  pause  followed. 

"  Didst  get  anything  out  o'  Price?  "  Tellwright  asked. 

"  Yes ;  he  gave  me  ten  pounds.  He  wants  you  to  go  and 
look  over  the  works — says  they're  falling  to  pieces." 

"  Cheque,  I  reckon  ?  " 

She  corrected  the  surmise. 

"  Better  give  me  them  notes,  Anna,"  he  said  after  tea. 
"  I'm  going  to  th'  Bank  i'  th'  morning,  and  I'll  pay  'em  in 
to  your  account." 

There  was  no  reason  why  she  should  not  have  suggested 


A  VISIT  55 

the  propriety  of  keeping  at  least  one  of  the  notes  for  her 
private  use.  But  she  dared  not.  She  had  never  had  any 
money  of  her  own,  not  a  penny;  and  the  effective  posses- 
sion of  five  pounds  seemed  far  too  audacious  a  dream.  She 
hesitated  to  imagine  her  father's  reply  to  such  a  request, 
even  to  frame  the  request  to  herself.  The  thing,  viewed 
close,  was  utterly  impossible.  And  when  she  relinquished 
the  notes  she  also,  without  being  asked,  gave  up  her  cheque- 
book, deposit-book,  and  pass-book.  She  did  this  while 
ardently  desiring  to  refrain  from  doing  it,  as  it  were  under 
the  compulsion  of  an  invincible  instinct.  Afterwards  she 
felt  more  at  ease,  as  though  some  disturbing  question  had 
been  settled  once  and  for  all. 

During  the  whole  of  that  evening  she  timorously  ex- 
pected Mynors,  saying  to  herself,  however,  that  he  certainly 
would  not  call  before  Thursday.  On  Tuesday  evening  she 
started  early  for  the  teachers'  meeting.  Her  intention  was 
to  arrive  among  the  first  and  to  choose  a  seat  in  obscurity, 
since  she  knew  well  that  every  eye  would  be  upon  her.  She 
was  divided  between  the  desire  to  see  Mynors  and  the  de- 
sire to  avoid  the  ordeal  of  being  seen  by  her  colleagues  in 
his  presence.  She  trembled  lest  she  should  be  incapable  of 
commanding  her  mien  so  as  to  appear  unconscious  of  this 
inspection  by  curious  eyes. 

The  meeting  was  held  in  a  large  class-room,  furnished 
with  wooden  seats,  a  chair,  and  a  small  table.  On  the  grey 
distempered  walls  hung  a  few  Biblical  cartoons  depicting 
scenes  in  the  life  of  Joseph  and  his  brethren — but  without 
reference  to  Potiphar's  wife.  From  the  whitewashed  ceil- 


56  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

ing  depended  a  T-shaped  gas-fitting,  one  burner  of  which 
showed  a  glimmer,  though  the  sun  had  not  yet  set.  The 
evening  was  oppressively  warm,  and  through  the  wide-open 
window  came  the  faint  effluvium  of  populous  cottages  and 
the  distant,  but  raucous,  cries  of  children  at  play.  When 
Anna  entered  a  group  of  young  men  were  talking  eagerly 
round  the  table ;  among  these  was  Willie  Price,  who  greeted 
her.  No  others  had  come:  she  sat  down  in  a  corner  by  the 
door,  invisible  except  from  within  the  room.  Gradually  the 
place  began  to  fill.  Then  at  last  Mynors  entered:  Anna 
recognised  his  authoritative  step  before  she  saw  him.  He 
walked  quickly  to  the  chair  in  front  of  the  table,  and,  in- 
cluding all  in  a  friendly  and  generous  smile,  said  that  in 
the  absence  of  Mr.  Titus  Price  it  fell  to  him  to  take  the 
chair :  he  was  glad  that  so  many  had  made  a  point  of  being 
present.  Everyone  sat  down.  He  gave  out  a  hymn,  and 
led  the  singing  himself,  attacking  the  first  note  with  an  as- 
surance born  of  practice.  Then  he  prayed,  and  as  he 
prayed  Anna  gazed  at  him  intently.  He  was  standing  up, 
the  ends  of  his  fingers  pressed  against  the  top  of  the  table. 
Very  carefully  dressed  as  usual,  he  wore  a  brilliant  new  red 
necktie,  and  a  gardenia  in  his  button-hole.  He  seemed 
happy,  wholesome,  earnest,  and  unaffected.  He  had  the 
elasticity  of  youth  with  the  firm  wisdom  of  age.  And  it  was 
as  if  he  had  never  been  younger  and  would  never  grow 
older,  remaining  always  at  just  thirty  and  in  his  prime. 
Incomparable  to  the  rest,  he  was  clearly  born  to  lead.  He 
fulfilled  his  functions  with  tact,  grace,  and  dignity.  In 
such  an  affair  as  this  present  he  disclosed  the  attributes  of 


A   VISIT  57 

the  skilled  workman,  whose  easy  and  exact  movements  are  a 
joy  and  wonder  to  the  beholder.  And  behind  all  was  the 
man,  his  excellent  and  strong  nature,  his  kindliness,  his  sin- 
cerity. Yes,  to  Anna,  Mynors  was  perfect  that  night;  the 
reality  of  him  exceeded  her  dreamy  meditations.  Fearful 
on  the  brink  of  an  ecstatic  bliss,  she  could  scarcely  believe 
that  from  the  enticements  of  a  thousand  women  this  para- 
gon had  been  preserved  for  her.  Like  most  of  us,  she 
lacked  the  high  courage  to  grasp  happiness  boldly  and  with- 
out apprehension;  she  had  not  learnt  that  nothing  is  too 
good  to  be  true. 

Mynors'  prayer  was  a  cogent  appeal  for  the  success  of 
the  Revival.  He  knew  what  he  wanted,  and  confidently 
asked  for  it,  approaching  God  with  humility  but  with  self- 
respect.  The  prayer  was  punctuated  by  Amens  from  vari- 
ous parts  of  the  room.  The  atmosphere  became  suddenly 
fervent,  emotional,  and  devout.  Here  was  lofty  endeavour, 
idealism,  a  burning  spirituality ;  and  not  all  the  pettinesses 
unavoidable  in  such  an  organisation  as  a  Sunday-school 
could  hide  the  difference  between  this  impassioned  altruism 
and  the  ignoble  selfishness  of  the  worldly.  Anna  felt,  as  she 
had  often  felt  before,  but  more  acutely  now,  that  she  ex- 
isted only  on  the  fringe  of  the  Methodist  society.  She  had 
not  been  converted ;  technically  she  was  a  lost  creature :  the 
converted  knew  it,  and  in  some  subtle  way  their  bearing 
towards  her,  and  others  in  her  case,  always  showed  that  they 
knew  it. 

Why  did  she  teach?  Not  from  the  impulse  of  re- 
ligious zeal.  Why  was  she  allowed  to  have  charge  of  a 


58 

class  of  immortal  souls?  The  blind  could  not  lead  the 
blind,  nor  the  lost  save  the  lost.  These  considerations 
troubled  her.  Conscience  pricked,  accusing  her  of  a  con- 
tinual pretence.  The  role  of  professing  Christian,  through 
false  shame,  had  seemed  distasteful  to  her:  she  had  said 
that  she  could  never  stand  up  and  say  "  I  am  for  Christ," 
without  being  uncomfortable.  But  now  she  was  ashamed 
of  her  inability  to  profess  Christ.  She  could  conceive  her- 
self proud  and  happy  in  the  very  part  which  formerly  she 
had  despised.  It  was  these  believers,  workers,  exhorters, 
wrestlers  with  Satan,  who  had  the  right  to  disdain;  not 
she. 

At  that  moment,  as  if  divining  her  thoughts,  Mynors 
prayed  for  those  among  them  who  were  not  converted.  She 
blushed,  and  when  the  prayer  was  finished  she  feared  lest 
every  eye  might  seek  hers  in  enquiry ;  but  no  one  seemed  to 
notice  her. 

Mynors  sat  down,  and,  seated,  began  to  explain  the  ar- 
rangements for  the  Revival.  He  made  it  plain  that  prayers 
without  industry  would  not  achieve  success.  His  remarks 
revealed  the  fact  that  underneath  the  broad  religious  struc- 
ture of  the  enterprise,  and  supporting  it,  there  was  a  basis 
of  individual  diplomacy  and  solicitation.  The  town  had 
been  mapped  out  into  districts,  and  each  of  these  was  being 
importuned,  as  at  an  election :  by  the  thoroughness  and  in- 
stancy of  this  canvass,  quite  as  much  as  by  the  intensity  of 
prayerful  desire,  would  Christ  conquer.  The  affair  was  a 
campaign  before  it  was  a  prostration  at  the  Throne  of 
Grace.  He  spoke  of  the  children,  saying  that  in  connection 


A  VISIT  59 

with  these  they,  the  teachers,  had  at  once  the  highest  priv- 
ilege and  the  most  sacred  responsibility.  He  told  of  a 
special  service  for  the  children,  and  the  need  of  visiting 
them  in  their  homes  and  inviting  the  parents  also  to  this 
feast  of  God.  He  wished  every  teacher  during  to-morrow 
and  the  next  day  and  the  next  day  to  go  through  the  list  of 
his  or  her  scholars'  names,  and  call,  if  possible,  at  every 
house.  There  must  be  no  shirking.  "  Will  you  ladies  do 
that? "  he  exclaimed  with  an  appealing,  serious  smile. 
"  Will  you,  Miss  Dickinson  ?  Will  you,  Miss  Machin  ?  Will 

you,  Mrs.  Salt?  Will  you,  Miss  Sutton?  Will  you " 

Until  at  last  it  came:  "  Will  you,  Miss  Tellwright?  "  "  I 
will,"  she  answered,  with  averted  eyes.  "  Thank  you. 
Thank  you  all." 

Some  others  spoke,  hopefully,  enthusiastically,  and  one 
or  two  prayed.  Then  Mynors  rose :  "  May  the  blessing  of 
God  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost  rest  upon  us 
now  and  for  ever."  "  Amen,"  someone  ejaculated.  The 
meeting  was  over. 

Anna  passed  rapidly  out  of  the  door,  down  the  Quad- 
rangle, and  into  Trafalgar  Road.  She  was  the  first  to 
leave,  daring  not  to  stay  in  the  room  a  moment.  She  had 
seen  him ;  he  had  not  altered  since  Sunday ;  there  was  no  dis- 
illusion, but  a  deepening  of  the  original  impression. 
Caught  up  by  the  soaring  of  his  spirit,  her  spirit  lifted,  and 
she  was  conscious  of  vague,  but  intense,  longing  skyward. 
She  could  not  reason  or  think  in  that  dizzying  hour,  but 
she  made  resolutions  which  had  no  verbal  form,  yielding 
eagerly  to  his  influence  and  his  appeal.  Not  till  she  had 


60  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

reached  the  bottom  of  Duck  Bank  and  was  breasting  the 
first  rise  towards  Bleakridge  did  her  pace  slacken.  Then  a 
voice  called  to  her  from  behind.  She  recognised  it,  and 
turned  sharply  beneath  the  shock.  Mynors  raised  his  hat 
and  greeted  her. 

"  I'm  coming  to  see  your  father,"  he  said. 

"  Yes  ?  "  she  said,  and  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  It  was  a  very  satisfactory  meeting  to-night,"  he  began, 
and  in  a  moment  they  were  talking  seriously  of  the  Re- 
vival. With  the  most  oblique  delicacy,  the  most  perfect 
assumption  of  equality  between  them,  he  allowed  her  to 
perceive  his  genuine  and  profound  anxiety  for  her  spirit- 
ual welfare.  The  atmosphere  of  the  meeting  was  still 
round  about  him,  the  divine  fire  still  uncooled.  "  I  hope 
you  will  come  to  the  first  service  on  Friday  night,"  he 
pleaded. 

"  I  must,"  she  replied.    "  Oh,  yes !    I  shall  come." 

"  That  is  good,"  he  said.  "  I  particularly  wanted  your 
promise." 

They  were  at  the  door  of  the  house.  Agnes,  obviously 
expectant  and  excited,  answered  the  bell.  With  an  effort 
Anna  and  Mynors  passed  into  a  lighter  mood. 

"  Father  said  you  were  coming,  Mr.  Mynors,"  said 
Agnes,  and,  turning  to  Anna,  "  I've  set  supper  all  my- 
self." 

"  Have  you  ?  "  Mynors  laughed.  "  Capital !  You  must 
let  me  give  you  a  kiss  for  that."  He  bent  down  and  kissed 
her,  she  holding  up  her  face  to  his  with  no  reluctance. 
Anna  looked  on,  smiling. 


A  VISIT  61 

Mr.  Tellwright  sat  near  the  window  of  the  back  parlour, 
reading  the  paper.  Twilight  was  at  hand.  He  lowered 
his  head  as  Mynors  entered  with  Agnes  in  train,  so  as  to 
see  over  his  spectacles,  which  were  half-way  down  his 
nose. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Mynors?  I  was  just  going  to  be- 
gin my  supper.  I  don't  wait,  you  know,"  and  he  glanced 
at  the  table. 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Mynors,  "  so  long  as  you  wouldn't 
eat  it  all.  Would  he  have  eaten  it  all,  Agnes,  do  you  think  ?" 
Agnes  pressed  her  head  against  Mynors'  arm  and  laughed 
shyly.  The  old  man  sardonically  chuckled. 

Anna,  who  was  still  in  the  passage,  wondered  what  could 
be  on  the  table.  If  it  was  only  the  usual  morsel  of  cheese 
she  felt  that  she  should  expire  of  mortification.  She  peeped : 
the  cheese  was  at  one  end,  and  at  the  other  a  joint  of  beef, 
scarcely  touched. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  Tellwright,  as  if  he  had  been  engaged 
some  seconds  upon  the  joke,  "  I'd  have  saved  ye  the 
bone." 

Anna  went  upstairs  to  take  off  her  hat,  and  immediately 
Agnes  flew  after  her.  The  child  was  breathless  with 
news. 

"  Oh,  Anna !  As  soon  as  you'd  gone  out  father  told  me 
that  Mr.  Mynors  was  coming  for  supper.  Did  you  know 
before?" 

"  Not  till  Mr.  Mynors  told  me,  dear."  It  was  character- 
istic of  her  father  to  say  nothing  until  the  last  mo- 
ment. 


62  ANNA   OF  THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  Yes,  and  he  told  me  to  put  an  extra  plate,  and  I  asked 
him  if  I  had  better  put  the  beef  on  the  table,  and  first  he 
said  '  No,'  cross — you  know — and  then  he  said  I  could 
please  myself,  so  I  put  it  on.  Why  has  Mr.  Mynors  come, 
Anna?  " 

"  How  should  I  know?  Some  business  between  him  and 
father,  I  expect." 

"  It's  very  queer,"  said  Agnes  positively,  with  the 
child's  aptitude  for  looking  a  fact  squarely  in  the 
face. 

"Why  '  queer'?" 

"  You  know  it  is,  Anna,"  she  frowned,  and  then  breaking 
into  a  joyous  smile.  "But  isn't  he  nice?  I  think  he's 
lovely."  " 

"  Yes,"  Anna  assented  coldly. 

"  But  really?"  Agnes  persisted. 

Anna  brushed  her  hair  and  determined  not  to  put  on  the 
apron  which  she  usually  wore  in  the  house. 

"Am  I  tidy,  Anna?" 

"  Yes.    Run  downstairs  now.    I'm  coming  directly." 

"  I  want  to  wait  for  you,"  Agnes  pouted. 

"  Very  well,  dear." 

They  entered  the  parlour  together,  and  Henry  Mynors 
jumped  up  from  his  chair,  and  would  not  sit  at  table  until 
they  were  seated.  Then  Mr.  Tellwright  carved  the  beef 5 
giving  each  of  them  a  very  small  piece,  and  taking  only 
cheese  for  himself.  Agnes  handed  the  water- jug  and  the 
bread.  Mynors  talked  about  nothing  in  especial,  but  he 
talked  and  laughed  the  whole  time;  he  even  made  the  old 


A  VISIT  63 

man  laugh,  by  a  comical  phrase  aimed  at  Agnes's  mad  pas- 
sion for  gilliflowers.  He  seemed  not  to  have  detected  any 
shortcomings  in  the  table  appointments — the  coarse  cloth 
and  plates,  the  chipped  tumblers,  the  pewter  cruet,  and  the 
stumpy  knives — which  caused  anguish  in  the  heart  of  the 
housewife.  He  might  have  sat  at  such  a  table  every  night 
of  his  life. 

"  May  I  trouble  you  for  a  little  more  beef?  "  he  asked 
presently,  and  Anna  fancied  a  shade  of  mischief  in  his  tone 
as  he  thus  forced  the  old  man  into  a  tardy  hospitality. 
"  Thanks.  And  a  morsel  of  fat." 

She  wondered  whether  he  guessed  that  she  was  worth 
fifty  thousand  pounds,  and  her  father  worth  perhaps 
more. 

But  on  the  whole  Anna  enjoyed  the  meal.  She  was  sorry 
when  they  had  finished  and  Agnes  had  thanked  God  for  the 
beef.  It  was  not  without  considerable  reluctance  that  she 
rose  and  left  the  side  of  the  man  whose  arm  she  could  have 
touched  at  any  time  during  the  previous  twenty  minutes. 
She  had  felt  happy  and  perturbed  in  being  so  near  to  him, 
so  intimate  and  free;  already  she  knew  his  face  by  heart. 
The  two  girls  carried  the  plates  and  dishes  into  the  kitchen, 
Agnes  making  the  last  journey  with  the  tablecloth,  which 
Mynors  had  assisted  her  to  fold. 

"  Shut  the  door,  Agnes,"  said  the  old  man,  getting  up 
to  light  the  gas.  It  was  an  order  of  dismissal  to  both  his 
daughters.  "  Let  me  light  that,"  Mynors  exclaimed,  and 
the  gas  was  lighted  before  Mr.  Tellwright  had  struck  a 
match.  Mynors  turned  on  the  full  force  of  gas.  Then 


64  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

Mr.  Tellwright  carefully  lowered  it.  The  summer 
quarter's  gas-bill  at  that  house  did  not  exceed  five  shil- 
lings. 

Through  the  open  windows  of  the  kitchen  and  parlour, 
Anna  could  hear  the  voices  of  the  two  men  in  conversation, 
Mynors'  vivacious  and  changeful,  her  father's  monotonous, 
curt,  and  heavy.  Once  she  caught  the  old  man's  hard  dry 
chuckle.  The  washing-up  was  done,  Agnes  had  accom- 
plished her  home-lessons;  the  grandfather's  clock  chimed 
the  half-hour  after  nine. 

"  You  must  go  to  bed,  Agnes." 

"  Mustn't  I  say  good-night  to  him  ?  " 

"  No,  I  will  say  good-night  for  you." 

"  Don't  forget  to.    I  shall  ask  you  in  the  morning." 

The  regular  sound  of  talk  still  came  from  the  parlour. 
A  full  moon  passed  along  the  cloudless  sky.  By  its  light 
and  that  of  a  glimmer  of  gas,  Anna  sat  cleaning  silver,  or 
rather  nickel,  at  the  kitchen  table.  The  spoons  and  forks 
were  already  clean,  but  she  felt  compelled  to  busy  herself 
with  something.  At  length  the  talk  stopped  and  she  heard 
the  scraping  of  chair-legs.  Should  she  return  to  the  par- 
lour? Or  should  she ?  Even  while  she  hesitated,  the 

kitchen  door  opened. 

"  Excuse  me  coming  in  here,"  said  Mynors.  "  I  wanted 
to  say  good-night  to  you." 

She  sprang  up  and  he  took  her  hand.  Could  he  feel  the 
agitation  of  that  hand? 

"  Good-night." 

"  Good-night."    He  said  it  again. 


A  VISIT  65 

"  And  Agnes  wished  me  to  say  good-night  to  you  for 
her." 

"  Did  she?  "  He  smiled ;  till  then  his  face  had  been  seri- 
ous. "  You  won't  forget  Friday  ?  " 

"  As  if  I  could !  "  she  murmured  after  he  had  gone. 


V:  THE  REVIVAL 

ANA  spent  the  afternoons  in  visiting  two  following 
the  houses  of  her  school-children.  She  had  no  talent 
for  such  work,  which  demands  the  vocal  rather  than 
the  meditative  temperament,  and  the  apparent  futility  of 
her  labours  would  have  disgusted  and  disheartened  her,  had 
she  not  been  sustained  and  urged  forward  by  the  still  active 
influence  of  Mynors  and  the  teachers'  meeting.  There  were 
fifteen  names  in  her  class-book,  and  she  went  to  each  house, 
except  four  whose  tenants  were  impeccable  Wesleyan  fam- 
ilies and  would  have  considered  themselves  insulted  by  a 
quasi-didactic  visit  from  an  upstart  like  Anna.  Of  the 
eleven,  some  parents  were  rude  to  her;  others  begged,  and 
she  had  nothing  to  give ;  others  made  perfunctory  promises ; 
only  two  seemed  to  regard  her  as  anything  but  a  somewhat 
tiresome  impertinence.  The  fault  was  doubtless  her  own. 
Nevertheless  she  found  joy  in  the  uncongenial  and  ill-per- 
formed task — the  cold,  fierce  joy  of  the  nun  in  her  pen- 
ance. When  it  was  done  she  said  "  I  have  done  it,"  as  one 
who  had  sworn  to  do  it  come  what  might,  yet  without  quite 
expecting  to  succeed. 

On  the  Friday  afternoon,  during  tea,  a  boy  brought  up  a 
large  foolscap  packet  addressed  to  Mr.  Tellwright.  "  From 
Mr.  Mynors,"  the  boy  said.  Tellwright  opened  it  leisurely 
after  the  boy  had  gone,  and  took  out  some  sheets  covered 
with  figures  which  he  carefully  examined.  "  Anna,"  lid 

66 


THE   REVIVAL  67 

said,  as  she  was  clearing  away  the  tea-things,  "  I  understand 
thou'rt  going  to  the  Revival  meeting  to-night.  I  shall  have 
a  message  as  thou  mun  give  to  Mr.  Mynors." 

When  she  went  upstairs  to  dress,  she  saw  the  Suttons' 
landau  standing  outside  their  house  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  road.  Mrs.  Sutton  came  down  the  front  steps  and  got 
into  her  carriage,  and  was  followed  by  a  little  restless,  nerv- 
ous, alert  man  who  carried  in  his  hand  a  black  case  of  pecu- 
liar form.  "  The  revivalist ! "  Anna  exclaimed,  remem- 
bering that  he  was  to  stay  with  the  Suttons  during  the  Re- 
vival week.  Then  this  was  the  renowned  crusader,  and  the 
case  held  his  renowned  cornet!  The  carriage  drove  off 
down  Trafalgar  Road,  and  Anna  could  see  that  the  little 
man  was  talking  vehemently  and  incessantly  to  Mrs.  Sutton, 
who  listened  with  evident  interest;  at  the  same  time  the 
man's  eyes  were  everywhere,  absorbing  all  details  of  the 
street  and  houses  with  unquenchable  curiosity. 

"  What  is  the  message  for  Mr.  Mynors,  father?  "  she 
asked  in  the  parlour,  putting  on  her  cotton  gloves. 

"  Oh !  "  he  said,  and  then  paused.    "  Shut  th'  door,  lass." 

She  shut  it,  not  knowing  what  this  cautiousness  fore- 
shadowed. Agnes  was  in  the  kitchen. 

"  It's  o'  this'n,"  Tellwright  began.  "  Young  Mynors 
wants  a  partner  wi'  a  couple  o'  thousand  pounds,  and  he 
come  to  me.  Ye  understand;  'tis  what  they  call  a  sleeping 
partner  he's  after.  He'll  give  a  third  share  in  his  concern 
for  two  thousand  pound  now.  I've  looked  into  it  and  there's 
money  in  it.  He's  no  fool  and  he's  gotten  hold  of  a  good 
thing.  He  sent  me  up  his  stock-taking  and  balance  sheet 


68  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

to-day,  and  I've  been  o'er  the  place  mysen.  I'm  telling 
thee  this,  lass,  because  I  have  na'  two  thousand  o'  my  own 
idle  just  now,  and  I  thought  as  thou  might  happen  like  th' 
investment." 

"  But,  father " 

"  Listen.  I  know  as  there's  only  four  hundred  o'  thine 
in  th'  Bank  now,  but  next  week  '11  see  the  beginning  o'  July 
and  dividends  coming  in.  I've  reckoned  as  ye'll  have  nigh 
on  fourteen  hundred  i'  dividends  and  interests,  and  I  can 
lend  ye  a  couple  o'  hundred  in  case  o'  necessity.  It's  a  rare 
chance ;  thou's  best  tak'  it." 

"  Of  course,  if  you  think  it's  all  right,  father,  that's 
enough,"  she  said  without  animation. 

"  Am'  na  I  telling  thee  I  think  it's  all  right?  "  he  re- 
marked sharply.  "  You  mun  tell  Mynors  as  I  say  it's  satis- 
factory. Tell  him  that,  see?  I  say  it's  satisfactory.  I 
shall  want  for  to  see  him  later  on.  He  told  me  he  couldna' 
come  up  any  night  next  week,  so  ask  him  to  make  it  the  week 
after.  There's  no  hurry.  Dunna'  forget." 

What  surprised  Anna  most  in  the  affair  was  that  Henry 
Mynors  should  have  been  able  to  tempt  her  father  into  a 
speculation.  Ephraim  Tellwright  the  investor  was  usually 
as  shy  as  a  well-fed  trout,  and  this  capture  of  him  by  a 
youngster  only  two  years  established  in  business  might 
fairly  be  regarded  as  a  prodigious  feat.  It  was  indeed  the 
highest  distinction  of  Mynors'  commercial  career.  Henry 
was  so  prominently  active  in  the  Wesleyan  Society  that  the 
members  of  that  society,  especially  the  women,  were  apt  to 
ignore  the  other  side  of  his  individuality.  They  knew  him 


THE  REVIVAL  69 

supreme  as  a  religious  worker ;  they  did  not  realise  the  like- 
lihood of  his  becoming  supreme  in  the  staple  manufacture. 
Left  an  orphan  at  seventeen,  Mynors  belonged  to  a  family 
now  otherwise  extinct  in  the  Five  Towns — one  of  those  fam- 
ilies which  by  virtue  of  numbers,  variety,  and  personal 
force  seem  to  permeate  a  whole  district,  to  be  a  calculable 
item  of  it,  an  essential  part  of  its  identity.  The  elders  of 
the  Mynors  blood  had  once  occupied  the  red  house  opposite 
Tellwright's,  now  used  as  a  school,  and  had  there  reared 
many  children:  the  school  building  was  still  known  as 
"  Mynors's  "  by  old-fashioned  people.  Then  the  parents 
died  in  middle  age:  one  daughter  married  in  the  North, 
another  in  the  South ;  a  third  went  to  China  as  a  missionary 
and  died  of  fever ;  the  eldest  son  died ;  the  second  had  van- 
ished into  Canada  and  was  reported  a  scapegrace ;  the  third 
was  a  sea-captain.  Henry  (the  youngest)  alone  was  left, 
and  of  all  the  family  Henry  was  the  only  one  to  be  con- 
nected with  the  earthenware  trade.  There  was  no  inherited 
money,  and  during  ten  years  he  had  worked  for  a  large 
firm  in  Turnhill,  as  clerk,  as  traveller,  and  last  as  manager, 
living  always  quietly  in  lodgings.  In  the  fulness  of  time 
he  gave  notice  to  leave,  was  offered  a  partnership,  and  re- 
fused it.  Taking  a  newly  erected  manufactory  in  Bursley 
near  the  canal,  he  started  in  business  for  himself,  and  it 
became  known  that,  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight,  he  had 
saved  fifteen  hundred  pounds.  Equally  expert  in  the  laby- 
rinths of  manufacture  and  in  the  niceties  of  the  markets 
(he  was  reckoned  a  peerless  traveller),  Mynors  inevitably 
flourished.  His  order-books  were  filled  and  flowing  over  at 


70  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

remunerative  prices,  and  insufficiency  of  capital  was  the  sole 
peril  to  which  he  was  exposed.  By  the  raising  of  a  finger 
he  could  have  had  a  dozen  working  and  moneyed  partners, 
but  he  had  no  desire  for  a  working  partner.  What  he 
wanted  was  a  capitalist  who  had  confidence  in  him,  Mynors. 
In  Ephraim  Tellwright  he  found  the  man.  Whether  it 
was  by  instinct,  good  luck,  or  skilful  diplomacy  that  My- 
nors secured  this  invaluable  prize  no  one  could  positively 
say,  and  perhaps  even  he  himself  could  not  have  catalogued 
all  the  obscure  motives  that  had  guided  him  to  the  shrewd 
miser  of  Manor  Terrace. 

Anna  had  meant  to  reach  chapel  before  the  commence- 
ment of  the  meeting,  but  the  interview  with  her  father 
threw  her  late.  As  she  entered  the  porch  an  officer  told  her 
that  the  body  of  the  chapel  was  quite  full  and  that  she 
should  go  into  the  gallery,  where  a  few  seats  were  left  near 
the  choir.  She  obeyed:  pew-holders  had  no  rights  at  that 
service. 

The  scene  in  the  auditorium  astonished  her,  effect- 
ually putting  an  end  to  the  worldly  preoccupation  caused 
by  her  father's  news.  The  historic  chapel  was  crowded 
almost  in  every  part,  and  the  congregation — impressed,  ex- 
cited, eager — sang  the  opening  hymn  with  unprecedented 
vigour  and  sincerity;  above  the  rest  could  be  heard  the 
trained  voices  of  a  large  choir,  and  even  the  choir,  usually 
perfunctory,  seemed  to  share  the  general  fervour.  In  the 
vast  mahogany  pulpit  the  Reverend  Reginald  Banks,  the 
superintendent  minister,  a  stout  pale-faced  man  with  pen- 
dent cheeks  and  cold  grey  eyes,  stood  impassively  regard- 


THE   REVIVAL  71 

ing  the  assemblage,  and  by  his  side  was  the  revivalist,  a 
mannikin  in  comparison  with  his  colleague;  on  the  broad 
balustrade  of  the  pulpit  lay  the  cornet.  The  fiery  and  in- 
quisitive eyes  of  the  revivalist  probed  into  the  furthest 
corners  of  the  chapel;  apparently  no  detail  of  any  single 
face  or  of  the  florid  decoration  escaped  him,  and  as  Anna 
crept  into  a  small  empty  pew  next  to  the  east  wall  she  felt 
that  she  too  had  been  separately  observed.  Mr.  Banks  gave 
out  the  last  verse  of  the  hymn,  and  simultaneously  with  the 
leading  chord  from  the  organ  the  revivalist  seized  his  cornet 
and  joined  the  melody.  Massive,  yet  exultant,  the  tones 
rose  clear  over  the  mighty  volume  of  vocal  sound,  an  in- 
citement to  victorious  effort.  The  effect  was  instant:  an 
ecstatic  tremor  seemed  to  pass  through  the  congregation, 
like  wind  through  ripe  corn,  and  at  the  close  of  the  hymn 
it  was  not  until  the  revivalist  had  put  down  his  cornet  that 
the  people  resumed  their  seats.  Amid  the  frou-frou  of 
dresses  and  subdued  clearing  of  throats,  Mr.  Banks  retired 
softly  to  the  back  of  the  pulpit,  and  the  revivalist,  mount- 
ing a  stool,  suddenly  dominated  the  congregation.  His 
glance  swept  masterfully  across  the  chapel  and  round  the 
gallery.  He  raised  one  hand  with  the  stilling  action  of  a 
mesmerist,  and  the  people,  either  kneeling  or  inclined 
against  the  front  of  the  pews,  hid  their  faces  from  those 
eyes.  It  was  as  though  the  man  had  in  a  moment  measured 
their  iniquities  and  had  courageously  resolved  to  inter- 
cede for  them  with  God,  but  was  not  very  sanguine  as 
to  the  result.  Everyone  except  the  organist,  who  was 
searching  his  tune-book  for  the  next  tune,  seemed  to  feel 


72  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

humbled,  bitterly  ashamed,  as  it  were  caught  in  the  act  of 
sin.  There  was  a  solemn  and  terrible  pause. 

Then  the  revivalist  began : 

"  Behold  us,  O  dread  God,  suppliants  for  thy 
mercy " 

His  voice  was  rich  and  full,  but  at  the  same  time  sharp 
and  decisive.  The  burning  eyes  were  shut  tight,  and  Anna, 
who  had  a  profile  view  of  his  face,  saw  that  every  muscle  of 
it  was  drawn  tense.  The  man  possessed  an  extraordinary 
histrionic  gift,  and  he  used  it  with  imagination.  He  had  two 
audiences,  God  and  the  congregation.  God  was  not  more 
distant  from  him  than  the  congregation,  or  less  real  to 
him,  or  less  a  heart  to  be  influenced.  Declamatory  and  full 
of  effects  carefully  calculated — a  work  of  art,  in  fact — 
his  appeal  showed  no  error  of  discretion  in  its  approach  to 
the  Eternal.  There  was  no  minimising  of  committed  sin, 
nor  yet  an  insincere  and  grovelling  self-accusation.  A  ty- 
rant could  not  have  taken  offence  at  its  tone,  which  seemed 
to  pacify  God  while  rendering  the  human  audience  still 
more  contrite.  The  conclusion  of  the  catalogue  of  wicked- 
ness and  swift  confident  turn  to  Christ's  cross  was  marvel- 
lously impressive.  The  congregation  burst  out  into  sighs, 
groans,  blessings,  and  Amens;  and  the  pillars  of  distant 
rural  conventicles,  who  had  travelled  from  the  confines  of 
the  circuit  to  its  centre  in  order  to  partake  of  this  spiritual 
excitation,  began  to  feel  that  they  would  not  be  disap- 
pointed. 

"  Let  the  Holy  Ghost  descend  upon  us  now,"  the  revival- 
ist pleaded  with  restrained  passion;  and  then,  opening  his 


THE   REVIVAL  73 

eyes  and  looking  at  the  clock  in  front  of  the  gallery,  he  re- 
peated, "  Now,  now,  at  twenty-one  minutes  past  seven." 
Then  his  eyes,  without  shifting,  seemed  to  ignore  the  clock, 
to  gaze  through  it  into  some  unworldly  dimension,  and  he 
murmured  in  a  soft  dramatic  whisper :  "  I  see  the  Divine 
Dove " 

The  doors,  closed  during  prayer,  were  opened,  and  more 
people  entered.  A  youth  came  into  Anna's  pew. 

The  superintendent  minister  gave  out  another  hymn, 
and  when  this  was  finished  the  revivalist,  who  had  been  rest- 
ing in  a  chair,  came  forward  again.  "  Friends  and  fellow- 
sinners,"  he  said,  "  a  lot  of  you,  fools  that  you  are,  have 
come  here  to-night  to  hear  me  play  my  cornet.  Well,  you 
have  heard  me.  I  have  played  the  cornet,  and  I  will  play  it 
again.  I  would  play  it  on  my  head  if  by  so  doing  I  could 
bring  sinners  to  Christ.  I  have  been  called  a  mountebank. 
I  am  one.  I  glory  in  it.  I  am  God's  mountebank,  doing 
God's  precious  business  in  my  own  way.  But  God's  pre- 
cious business  cannot  be  carried  on,  even  by  a  mountebank, 
without  money,  and  there  will  be  a  collection  towards  the 
expenses  of  the  Revival.  During  the  collection  we  will 
sing  '  Rock  of  Ages,'  and  you  shall  hear  my  cornet  again. 
If  you  feel  willing  to  give  us  your  sixpences,  give ;  but  if 
you  resent  a  collection,"  here  he  adopted  a  tone  of  fero- 
cious sarcasm,  "  keep  your  miserable  sixpences  and  get  six- 
penny-worth of  miserable  enjoyment  out  of  them  else- 
where." 

As  the  meeting  proceeded,  submitting  itself  more  and 
more  to  the  imperious  hypnotism  of  the  revivalist,  Anna 


74  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

gradually  became  oppressed  by  a  vague  sensation  which  was 
partly  sorrow  and  partly  an  inexplicable  dull  anger — anger 
at  her  own  penitence.  She  felt  as  if  everything  was  wrong 
and  could  never  by  any  possibility  be  righted.  After  two 
exhortations,  from  the  minister  and  the  revivalist,  and  an- 
other hymn,  the  revivalist  once  more  prayed,  and  as  he  did 
so  Anna  looked  stealthily  about  in  a  sick,  preoccupied  way. 
The  youth  at  her  side  stared  glumly  in  front  of  him.  In 
the  orchestra  Henry  Mynors  was  whispering  to  the  organ- 
ist. Down  in  the  body  of  the  chapel  the  atmosphere  was 
electric,  perilous,  overcharged  with  spiritual  emotion.  She 
was  glad  she  was  not  down  there.  The  voice  of  the  re- 
vivalist ceased,  but  he  kept  the  attitude  of  supplication. 
Sobs  were  heard  in  various  quarters,  and  here  and  there  an 
elder  of  the  chapel  could  be  seen  talking  quietly  to  some 
convicted  sinner.  The  revivalist  began  softly  to  sing 
"  Jesu,  lover  of  my  soul,"  and  most  of  the  congregation, 
standing  up,  joined  him;  but  the  sinners  stricken  of  the 
Spirit  remained  abjectly  bent,  tortured  by  conscience, 
pulled  this  way  by  Christ  and  that  by  Satan.  A  few  rose 
and  went  to  the  Communion  rails,  there  to  kneel  in  the 
sight  of  all.  Mr.  Banks  descended  from  the  pulpit  and 
opening  the  wicket  which  led  to  the  Communion  table  spoke 
to  these  over  the  rails,  reassuringly,  as  a  nurse  to  a  child. 
Other  sinners,  desirous  of  fuller  and  more  intimate  guid- 
ance, passed  down  the  aisles  and  so  into  the  preacher's  ves- 
try at  the  eastern  end  of  the  chapel,  and  were  followed 
thither  by  class-leaders  and  other  proved  servants  of  God: 
among  these  last  were  Titus  Price  and  Mr.  Sutton. 


THE  REVIVAL  76 

"  The  blood  of  Christ  atones,"  said  the  revivalist  sol- 
emnly, at  the  end  of  the  hymn.  "  The  spirit  of  Christ  is 
working  among  us.  Let  us  engage  in  private  prayer.  Let 
us  drive  the  devil  out  of  this  chapel." 

More  sighs  and  groans  followed.  Then  someone  cried 
out  in  sharp,  shrill  tones,  "  Praise  Him  " ;  and  another 
cried,  "  Praise  Him  " ;  and  an  old  woman's  quavering  voice 
sang  the  words,  "  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth."  Anna 
was  in  despair  at  her  own  predicament,  and  the  sense  of 
sin  was  not  more  strong  than  the  sense  of  being  confused 
and  publicly  shamed.  A  man  opened  the  pew-door,  and 
sitting  down  by  the  youth's  side  began  to  talk  with  him. 
It  was  Henry  Mynors.  Anna  looked  steadily  away  at  the 
wall,  fearful  lest  he  should  address  her  too.  Presently  the 
youth  got  up  with  a  frenzied  gesture  and  walked  out  ,of 
the  gallery,  followed  by  Mynors.  In  a  moment  she  saw  the 
youth  stepping  awkwardly  along  the  aisle  beneath,  towards 
the  inquiry  room,  his  head  forward  and  the  lower  lip  hang- 
ing as  though  he  were  sulky. 

Anna  was  now  in  the  profoundest  misery.  The  weight 
of  her  sins,  of  her  ingratitude  to  God,  lay  on  her  like  a 
physical  and  intolerable  load,  and  she  lost  all  feeling  of 
shame,  as  a  seasick  voyager  loses  shame  after  an  hour  of 
nausea.  She  knew  then  that  she  could  no  longer  go  on 
living  as  aforetime.  She  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  her 
tremendous  responsibility  to  Agnes — Agnes  who  took  her 
for  perfection.  She  recollected  all  her  sins  individually — 
lies,  sloth,  envy,  vanity,  even  theft  in  her  infancy.  She 
heaped  up  all  the  wickedness  of  a  lifetime,  hysterically 


76  ANNA  OP  THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

augmented  it,  and  found  a  horrid  pleasure  in  the  exaggera- 
tion. Her  virtuous  acts  shrank  into  nothingness. 

A  man,  and  then  another,  emerged  from  the  vestry  door 
with  beaming,  happy  face.  These  were  saved;  they  had 
yielded  to  Christ's  persuasive  invitation.  Anna  tried  to 
imagine  herself  converted,  or  in  the  process  of  being  con- 
verted. She  could  not.  She  could  only  sit  moveless,  dull, 
and  abject.  She  did  not  stir,  even  when  the  congregation 
rose  for  another  hymn.  In  what  did  conversion  consist? 
Was  it  to  say  the  words,  "  I  believe  "  ?  She  repeated  to 
herself  softly,  "  I  believe ;  I  believe."  But  nothing  hap- 
pened. Of  course  she  believed.  She  had  never  doubted, 
nor  dreamed  of  doubting,  that  Jesus  died  on  the  Cross  to 
save  her  soul — her  soul — from  eternal  damnation.  She  was 
probably  unaware  that  any  person  in  Christendom  had 
doubted  that  fact  so  fundamental  to  her.  What,  then,  was 
lacking?  What  was  belief?  What  was  faith? 

A  venerable  class-leader  came  from  the  vestry,  and, 
slowly  climbing  the  pulpit  stairs,  whispered  in  the  ear  of  the 
revivalist.  The  latter  faced  the  congregation  with  a  cry 
of  joy.  "  Lord,"  he  exclaimed,  "  we  bless  Thee  that  sev- 
enteen souls  have  found  Thee!  Lord,  let  the  full  crop  be 
gathered,  for  the  fields  are  white  unto  harvest."  There  was 
an  exuberant  chorus  of  praise  to  God. 

The  door  of  the  pew  was  opened  gently,  and  Anna 
started  to  see  Mrs.  Sutton  at  her  side.  She  at  once  guessed 
that  Mynors  had  sent  to  her  this  angel  of  consolation. 

"  Are  you  near  the  light,  dear  Anna?  "  Mrs.  Sutton  be- 
gan. 


THE   REVIVAL  77 

Anna.searched  for  an  answer.  She  now  sat  huddled  up 
in  the  corner  of  the  pew,  her  face  partially  turned  towards 
Mrs.  Sutton,  who  looked  mildly  into  her  eyes.  "  I  don't 
know,"  Anna  stammered,  feeling  like  a  naughty  school- 
girl. A  doubt  whether  the  whole  affair  was  not  after  all 
absurd  flashed  through  her,  and  was  gone. 

"  But  it  is  quite  simple,"  said  Mrs.  Sutton.  "  I  cannot 
tell  you  anything  that  you  do  not  know.  Cast  out  pride. 
Cast  out  pride — that  is  it.  Nothing  but  earthly  pride  pre- 
vents you  from  realising  the  saving  power  of  Christ.  You 
are  afraid,  Anna,  afraid  to  be  humble.  Be  brave.  It  is 
so  simple,  so  easy.  If  one  will  but  submit." 

Anna  said  nothing,  had  nothing  to  say,  was  conscious 
of  nothing  save  excessive  discomfort. 

"  Where  do  you  feel  your  difficulty  to  be?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Sutton. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered  wearily. 

"  The  happiness  that  awaits  you  is  unspeakable.  I  have 
followed  Christ  for  nearly  fifty  years,  and  my  happiness 
increases  daily.  Sometimes  I  do  not  know  how  to  contain 
it  all.  It  surges  above  all  the  trials  and  disappointments 
of  this  world.  Oh,  Anna,  if  you  will  but  believe !  " 

The  aging  woman's  thin,  distinguished  face,  crowned 
with  abundant  grey  hair,  glistened  with  love  and  compas- 
sion, and  as  Anna's  eyes  rested  upon  it  Anna  felt  that  there 
was  something  tangible,  something  to  lay  hold  on. 

"  I  think  I  do  believe,"  she  said  weakly. 

"  You  '  think  '  ?  Are  you  sure  ?  Are  you  not  deceiving 
yourself?  Belief  is  not(with  the  lips:  it  is  with  the  heart." 


78  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

There  was  a  pause.    Mr.  Banks  could  be  heard  praying. 

"  I  will  go  home,"  Anna  whispered  at  length,  "  and  think 
it  out  for  myself." 

"  Do,  my  dear  girl,  and  God  will  help  you." 

Mrs.  Sutton  bent  and  kissed  Anna  affectionately,  and 
then  hurried  away  to  offer  her  ministrations  elsewhere.  As 
Anna  left  the  chapel,  she  encountered  the  chapel-keeper 
pacing  regularly  to  and  fro  across  the  length  of  the  broad 
steps.  In  the  porch  was  a  notice  that  cabinet  photographs 
of  the  revivalist  could  be  purchased  on  application,  at  one 
shilling  each. 


VI:  WILLIE 

ArNA  closed  the  bedroom  door  softly;  through  the 
open  window  came  the  tones  of  Cauldon  church  clock, 
famous  for  their  sonority  and  richness,  announcing 
eleven.  Agnes  lay  asleep  under  the  blue-and-white  counter- 
pane, on  the  side  of  the  bed  next  the  wall,  the  bed-clothes 
pushed  down  and  disclosing  the  upper  half  of  her  night- 
gowned  figure.  She  slept  in  absolute  repose,  with  flushed 
cheek  and  every  muscle  lax,  her  hair  by  some  chance  drawn 
in  a  perfect  straight  line  diagonally  across  the  pillow. 
Anna  glanced  at  her  sister,  the  image  of  physical  inno- 
cence and  childish  security,  and  then,  depositing  the  candle, 
went  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

The  bedroom  was  over  the  kitchen  and  faced  south.  The 
moon  was  hidden  by  clouds,  but  clear  stretches  of  sky 
showed  thick-studded  clusters  of  stars  brightly  winking. 
To  the  far  right  across  the  fields  the  silhouette  of  Hillport 
Church  could  just  be  discerned  on  the  ridge.  In  front,  sev- 
eral miles  away,  the  blast-furnaces  of  Cauldon  Bar  Iron- 
works shot  up  vast  wreaths  of  yellow  flame  with  canopies  of 
tinted  smoke.  Still  more  distant  were  a  thousand  other 
lights  crowning  chimney  and  kiln,  and  nearer,  on  the  waste 
lands  west  of  Bleakridge,  long  fields  of  burning  ironstone 
glowed  with  all  the  strange  colours  of  decadence.  The 
entire  landscape  was  illuminated  and  transformed  by  these 
unique  pyrotechnics  of  labour,  atoning  for  its  grime,  and 

79 


80  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

dull,  weird  sounds,  as  of  the  breathings  and  sighings  of 
gigantic  nocturnal  creatures,  filled  the  enchanted  air.  It 
was  a  romantic  scene,  a  romantic  summer  night,  balmy, 
delicate,  and  wrapped  in  meditation.  But  Anna  saw  noth- 
ing there  save  the  repulsive  evidences  of  manufacture,  had 
never  seen  anything  else. 

She  was  still  horribly,  acutely  miserable,  exhausted  by 
the  fruitless  search  for  some  solution  of  the  enigma  of  sin 
— her  sin  in  particular — and  of  redemption.  She  had  cogi- 
tated in  a  vain  circle  until  she  was  no  longer  capable  of 
reasoned  ideas.  She  gazed  at  the  stars  and  into  the  illimit- 
able spaces  beyond  them,  and  thought  of  life  and  its  incon- 
ceivable littleness,  as  millions  had  done  before  in  the  presence 
of  that  same  firmament.  Then,  after  a  time,  her  brain  re- 
sumed its  nightmare-like  task.  She  began  to  probe  herself 
anew.  Would  it  have  availed  if  she  had  walked  publicly 
to  the  penitential  form  at  the  Communion-rail,  and,  ranging 
herself  with  the  working  men  and  women,  proved  by  that 
overt  deed  the  sincerity  of  her  contrition?  She  wished 
ardently  that  she  had  done  so,  yet  knew  well  that  such  an  act 
would  always  be  impossible  for  her,  even  though  the  evasion 
of  it  meant  eternal  torture.  Undoubtedly,  as  Mrs.  Sutton 
had  implied,  she  was  proud,  stiff-necked,  obstinate  in 
iniquity. 

Agnes  stirred  slightly  in  her  sleep,  and  Anna,  aroused, 
dropped  the  blind,  turned  towards  the  room  and  began  to 
undress,  slowly,  with  reflective  pauses.  Her  melancholy 
became  grim,  sardonic;  if  she  was  doomed  to  destruction, 
so  let  it  be.  Suddenly,  half-clad,  she  knelt  down  and 


WILLIE  81 

prayed,  prayed  that  pride  might  be  cast  out,  burying  her 
face  in  the  coverlet  and  caging  the  passionate  effusion  in 
a  whisper  lest  Agnes  should  be  disturbed.  Having  prayed, 
she  still  knelt  quiescent;  her  eyes  were  dry  and  burning. 
The  last  car  thundered  up  the  road,  shaking  the  house,  and 
she  rose,  finished  undressing,  blew  out  the  candle,  and 
slipped  into  bed  by  Agnes's  side. 

She  could  not  sleep,  did  not  attempt  to  sleep,  but  aban- 
doned herself  meekly  to  despair.  Her  thoughts  covered 
again  the  interminable  round,  and  again,  and  yet,  again. 
In  the  twilight  of  the  brief  summer  night  her  accustomed 
eyes  could  distinguish  every  object  in  the  room,  all  the  bits 
of  furniture  which  had  been  brought  from  Hanbridge  and 
with  which  she  had  been  familiar  since  her  memory  began : 
everything  appeared  mean,  despicable,  cheerless ;  there  was 
nothing  to  inspire.  She  dreamed  impossibly  of  a  high 
spirituality  which  should  metamorphose  all,  change  her  life, 
lend  glamour  to  the  most  pitiful  surroundings,  ennoble  the 
most  ignominious  burdens — a  spirituality  never  to  be 
hers. 

At  any  rate  she  would  tell  her  father  in  the  morning 
that  she  was  convicted  of  sin,  and,  however  hopelessly,  seek- 
ing salvation ;  she  would  tell  both  her  father  and  Agnes  at 
breakfast.  The  task  would  be  difficult,  but  she  swore  to  do 
it.  So  resolved,  she  endeavoured  to  sleep,  and  did  sleep 
uneasily  for  a  short  period.  When  she  woke  the  great 
business  of  the  dawn  had  begun.  She  left  the  bed,  and 
drawing  up  the  blind  looked  forth.  The  furnace  fires  were 
paling;  a  few  milky  clouds  sailed  in  the  vast  pallid  blue. 


82  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

It  was  cool  just  then,  and  she  shivered.  She  went  to  the 
glass,  and  examined  her  face  carefully,  but  it  gave  no  signs 
whatever  of  the  inward  warfare.  She  saw  her  plain  and 
mended  night-gown.  Suppose  she  were  married  to  Mynors ! 
Suppose  he  lay  asleep  in  the  bed  where  Agnes  lay  asleep! 
Involuntarily  she  glanced  at  Agnes  to  certify  that  the  child 
and  none  else  was  indeed  there,  and  got  into  bed  hurriedly 
and  hid  herself  because  she  was  ashamed  to  have  had  such 
a  fancy.  But  she  continued  to  think  of  Mynors.  She 
envied  him  for  his  cheerfulness,  his  joy,  his  goodness,  his 
dignity,  his  tact,  his  sex.  She  envied  every  man.  Even 
in  the  sphere  of  religion,  men  were  not  fettered  like  women. 
No  man,  she  thought,  would  acquiesce  in  the  futility  to 
which  she  was  already  half  resigned;  a  man  would  either 
wring  salvation  from  the  heavenly  powers  or  race  gloriously 
to  hell.  Mynors — Mynors  was  a  god ! 

She  recollected  her  resolution  to  speak  to  her  father  and 
Agnes  at  breakfast,  and  shudderingly  confirmed  it,  but  less 
stoutly  than  before.  Then  an  announcement  made  by  Mr. 
Banks  in  chapel  on  the  previous  evening  presented  itself, 
as  though  she  was  listening  to  it  for  the  first  time.  It  was 
the  announcement  of  a  prayer-meeting  for  workers  in  the 
Revival,  to  be  held  that  (Saturday)  morning  at  seven 
o'clock.  She  instantly  decided  to  go  to  the  meeting,  and 
the  decision  seemed  to  give  her  new  hope.  Perhaps  there 
she  might  find  peace.  On  that  faint  expectancy  she  fell 
asleep  again  and  did  not  wake  till  half-past  six,  after  her 
usual  hour.  She  heard  noises  in  the  yard ;  it  was  her  father 
going  towards  the  garden  with  a  wheelbarrow.  She  dressed 


WILLIE  83 

quickly,  and  when  she  had  pinned  on  her  hat  she  woke 
Agnes. 

"  Going  out,  Sis  ?  "  the  child  asked  sleepily,  seeing  her 
attire. 

"  Yes,  dear.  I'm  going  to  the  seven  o'clock  prayer-meet- 
ing. And  you  must  get  breakfast.  You  can — can't  you  ?  " 

The  child  assented,  glad  of  the  chance. 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  the  prayer-meeting  for?  " 

Anna  hesitated.  Why  not  confess?  No.  "  I  must 
go,"  she  said  quietly  at  length.  "  I  shall  be  back  before 
eight." 

*'  Does  father  know?  "  Agnes  enquired  apprehensively. 

"  No,  dear." 

Anna  shut  the  door  quickly,  went  softly  downstairs  and 
along  the  passage,  and  crept  into  the  street  like  a  thief. 

Men  and  women  and  boys  and  girls  were  on  their  way  to 
work,  with  hurried,  clattering  steps,  some  munching  thick 
pieces  of  bread  as  they  went,  all  self-centred,  apparently 
morose  and  not  quite  awake.  The  dust  lay  thick  in  the 
arid  gutters,  and  in  drifts  across  the  pavement,  as  the  night- 
wind  had  blown  it.  Vehicular  traffic  had  not  begun,  and 
blinds  were  still  drawn ;  and  though  the  footpaths  were  busy 
the  street  had  a  deserted  and  forlorn  aspect.  Anna  walked 
hastily  down  the  road,  avoiding  the  glances  of  such  as 
looked  at  her,  but  peering  furtively  at  the  faces  of  those 
who  ignored  her.  All  seemed  callous — hoggishly  careless 
of  the  everlasting  verities.  At  first  it  appeared  strange 
to  her  that  the  potent  revival  in  the  Wesleyan  chapel  had 
produced  no  effect  on  these  preoccupied  people.  Bursley, 


84  ANNA   OF  THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

then,  continued  its  dull  and  even  course.  She  wondered 
whether  any  of  them  guessed  that  she  was  going  to  the 
prayer-meeting  and  secretly  sneered  at  her  therefor. 

When  she  had  climbed  Duck  Bank  she  found,  to  her  sur- 
prise, that  the  doors  of  the  chapel  were  fast  closed,  though  it 
was  ten  minutes  past  seven.  Was  there  to  be  no  prayer- 
meeting?  A  momentary  sensation  of  relief  flashed  through 
her,  and  then  she  saw  that  the  gate  of  the  school-yard  was 
open.  She  should  have  known  that  early  morning  prayers 
were  never  offered  up  in  the  chapel,  but  in  the  lecture-hall. 
She  crossed  the  quadrangle  with  beating  heart,  feeling  now 
that  she  had  embarked  on  a  frightful  enterprise.  The  door 
of  the  lecture-hall  was  ajar ;  she  pushed  it  and  went  in.  At 
the  other  end  of  the  hall  a  meagre  handful  of  worshippers 
were  collected,  and  on  the  raised  platform  stood  Mr.  Banks, 
vapid,  perfunctory,  and  fatigued.  He  gave  out  a  verse, 
and  pitched  the  tune — too  high,  but  the  singers  with  a 
heroic  effort  accomplished  the  verse  without  breaking  down. 
The  singing  was  thin  and  feeble,  and  the  eagerness  of  one 
or  two  voices  seemed  strained,  as  though  with  a  determina- 
tion to  make  the  best  of  things.  Mynors  was  not  present, 
and  Anna  did  not  know  whether  to  be  sorry  or  glad  of  this. 
She  recognised  that,  save  herself,  all  present  were  old  be- 
lievers, tried  warriors  of  the  Lord.  There  was  only  one 
other  woman,  Miss  Sarah  Vodrey,  an  aged  spinster  who  kept 
house  for  Titus  Price  and  his  son,  and  found  her  sole  diver- 
sion in  the  variety  of  her  religious  experiences.  Before 
the  hymn  was  finished  a  young  man  joined  the  assembly;  it 
was  the  youth  who  had  sat  near  Anna  on  the  previous  night ; 


WILLIE  86 

an  ecstatic  and  naive  bliss  shone  from  his  face.  In  his 
prayer  the  minister  drew  the  attention  of  the  Deity  to  the 
fact  that,  although  a  score  or  more  of  souls  had  been  in- 
gathered  at  the  first  service,  the  Methodists  of  Bursley  were 
by  no  means  satisfied.  They  wanted  more;  they  wanted 
the  whole  of  Bursley ;  and  they  would  be  content  with  no 
less.  He  begged  that  their  earnest  work  might  not  be 
shamed  before  the  world  by  a  partial  success.  In  conclu- 
sion he  sought  the  blessing  of  God  on  the  revivalist  and 
asked  that  this  tireless  enthusiast  might  be  led  to  husband 
his  strength:  at  which  there  was  a  fervent  Amen. 

Several  men  prayed,  and  a  pause  ensued,  all  still  kneel- 
ing. 

Then  the  minister  said  in  a  tone  of  oily  politeness: 

"Will  a  sister  pray?" 

Another  pause  followed. 

"  Sister  Tellwright?  " 

Anna  would  have  welcomed  death  and  damnation.  She 
clasped  her  hands  tightly, and  longed  for  the  endless  moment 
to  pass.  At  last  Sarah  Vodrey  gave  a  preliminary  cough. 
Miss  Vodrey  was  always  happy  to  pray  aloud,  and  her  in- 
vocations usually  began  with  the  same  phrase :  "  Lord, 
we  thank  Thee  that  this  day  finds  us  with  our  bodies  out 
of  the  grave  and  our  souls  out  of  hell." 

Afterwards  the  minister  gave  out  another  hymn,  and  as 
soon  as  the  singing  commenced  Anna  slipped  away.  Once 
in  the  yard,  she  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  Peace  at  the 
prayer-meeting?  It  was  like  coming  out  of  prison.  Peace 
was  farther  off  than  ever.  Nay,  she  had  actually  forgot- 


86  ANNA   OF  THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

ten  her  soul  in  the  sensations  of  shame  and  discomfort. 
She  had  contrived  only  to  make  herself  ridiculous,  and  per- 
haps the  pious  at  their  breakfast-tables  would  discuss  her 
and  her  father,  and  their  money,  and  the  queer  life  they 
led. 

If  Mynors  had  but  been  present ! 

She  walked  out  into  the  street.  It  was  twenty  minutes 
to  eight  by  the  town-hall  clock.  The  last  workman's  car 
of  the  morning  was  just  leaving  Bursley:  it  was  packed 
inside  and  outside,  and  the  conductor  hung  insecurely  on 
the  step.  At  the  gates  of  the  manufactory  opposite  the 
chapel,  a  man  in  a  white  smock  stood  placidly  smoking  a 
pipe.  A  prayer-meeting  was  a  little  thing,  a  trifle  in  the 
immense  and  regular  activity  of  the  town:  this  thought 
necessarily  occurred  to  Anna.  She  hurried  homewards, 
wondering  what  her  father  would  say  about  that  morning's 
unusual  excursion.  A  couple  of  hundred  yards  distant 
from  home  she  saw,  to  her  astonishment,  Agnes  emerging 
from  the  front  door  of  the  house.  The  child  ran  rapidly 
down  the  street,  not  observing  Anna  till  they  were  close 
upon  each  other. 

"  Oh,  Anna !  You  forgot  to  buy  the  bacon  yesterday. 
There  isn't  a  scrap,  and  father's  fearfully  angry.  He  gave 
me  sixpence,  and  I'm  going  down  to  Leal's  to  get  some  as 
quick  as  ever  I  can." 

It  was  a  thunderbolt  to  Anna,  this  seemingly  petty  mis- 
adventure. As  she  entered  the  house  she  felt  a  tear  on 
her  cheek.  She  was  ashamed  to  weep,  but  she  wept. 
This,  after  the  fiasco  of  the  prayer-meeting,  was  a  climax 


WILLIE  87 

of  woe ;  it  overtopped  and  extinguished  all  the  rest ;  her  soul 
was  nothing  to  her  now.  She  quickly  took  off  her  hat  and 
ran  to  the  kitchen.  Agnes  had  put  the  breakfast-things 
on  the  tray  ready  for  setting ;  the  bread  was  cut,  the  coffee 
portioned  into  the  jug;  the  fire  burned  bright,  and  the 
kettle  sang.  Anna  took  the  cloth  from  the  drawer  in  the 
oak  dresser,  and  went  to  the  parlour  to  lay  the  table.  Mr. 
Tellwright  was  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  pointing  the  wall, 
his  back  to  the  house.  The  table  set,  Anna  observed  that  the 
room  was  only  partly  dusted;  there  was  a  duster  on  the 
mantelpiece;  she  seized  it  to  finish,  and  at  that  moment 
the  kitchen  clock  struck  eight.  Simultaneously  Mr.  Tell- 
wright dropped  his  trowel,  and  came  towards  the  house. 
She  doggedly  dusted  one  chair,  and  then,  turning  coward, 
fled  away  upstairs ;  the  kitchen  was  barred  to  her,  since  her 
father  would  enter  by  the  kitchen  door. 

She  had  forgotten  to  buy  bacon,  and  breakfast  would 
be  late:  it  was  a  calamity  unique  in  her  experience!  She 
stood  at  the  door  of  her  bedroom,  and  waited,  vehemently, 
for  Agnes's  return.  At  last  the  child  raced  breathlessly 
in ;  Anna  flew  to  meet  her.  With  incredible  speed  the  bacon 
was  whipped  out  of  its  wrapper,  and  Anna  picked  up  the 
knife.  At  the  first  stroke  she  cut  herself,  and  Agnes  was 
obliged  to  bind  her  finger  with  rag.  The  clock  struck  the 
half-hour  like  a  knell.  It  was  twenty  minutes  to  nine, 
forty  minutes  behind  time,  when  the  two  girls  hurried  into 
the  parlour,  Anna  bearing  the  bacon  and  hot  plates,  Agnes 
the  bread  and  coffee.  Mr.  Tellwright  sat  upright  and 
ferocious  in  his  chair,  the  image  of  offence  and  wrath.  In- 


88  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

stead  of  reading  his  letters  he  had  fed  full  of  this  ineffable 
grievance.  The  meal  began  in  a  desolating  silence.  The 
male  creature's  terrible  displeasure  permeated  the  whole 
room  like  an  ether,  invisible,  but  carrying  vibrations  to  the 
heart.  Then,  when  he  had  eaten  one  piece  of  bacon,  and 
cut  his  envelopes,  the  miser  began  to  empty  himself  of 
some  of  his  anger  in  stormy  tones  that  might  have  up- 
rooted trees.  Anna  ought  to  feel  thoroughly  ashamed.  He 
could  not  imagine  what  she  had  been  thinking  of.  Why 
didn't  she  tell  him  she  was  going  to  the  prayer-meeting? 
Why  did  she  go  to  the  prayer-meeting,  disarranging  the 
whole  household?  How  came  she  to  forget  the  bacon?  It 
was  gross  carelessness.  A  pretty  example  to  her  little  sis- 
ter! The  fact  was  that  since  her  birthday  she  had  gotten 
above  hersen.  She  was  careless  and  extravagant.  Look 
how  thick  the  bacon  was  cut.  He  should  not  stand  it  much 
longer.  And  her  finger  all  red,  and  the  blood  dropping  on 
the  cloth :  a  nice  sight  at  a  meal !  Go  and  tie  it  up  again. 

Without  a  word  she  left  the  room  to  obey.  Of  course 
she  had  no  defence.  Agnes,  her  tears  falling,  pecked  her 
food  timidly  like  a  bird,  not  daring  to  stir  from  her  chair, 
even  to  assist  at  the  finger. 

"  What  did  Mr.  Mynors  say  ?  "  Tellwright  enquired 
fiercely  when  Anna  had  come  back  into  the  room. 

"  Mr.  Mynors  ?  "  she  murmured,  at  a  loss,  but  vaguely 
apprehending  further  trouble. 

"Did  ye  see  him?" 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  Did  ye  give  him  my  message?  " 


WILLIE  89 

"  I  forgot  it."  God  in  heaven !  She  had  forgotten  the 
message ! 

With  a  devastating  grunt  Mr.  Tellwright  walked  speech- 
less out  of  the  room.  The  girls  cleared  the  table,  exchang- 
ing sympathy  with  a  single  mute  glance.  Anna's  one  satis- 
faction was  that,  even  if  she  had  remembered  the  message, 
she  could  not  possibly  have  delivered  it. 

Ephraim  Tellwright  stayed  in  the  front  parlour  till  half- 
past  ten  o'clock,  unseen  but  felt,  like  an  angry  god  behind 
a  cloud.  The  consciousness  that  he  was  there,  unappeased 
and  dangerous,  remained  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  the 
two  girls  during  the  morning.  At  half -past  ten  he  opened 
the  door. 

"  Agnes ! "  he  commanded,  and  Agnes  ran  to  him  from 
the  kitchen  with  the  speed  of  propitiation. 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  Take  this  note  down  to  Price's,  and  don't  wait  for  an 
answer." 

"  Yes,  father." 

She  was  back  in  twenty  minutes.  Anna  was  sweeping 
the  lobby. 

"  If  Mr.  Mynors  calls  while  I'm  out,  you  mun  tell  him 
to  wait,"  Mr.  Tellwright  said  to  Agnes,  pointedly  ignoring 
Anna's  presence.  Then,  having  brushed  his  greenish  hat 
on  his  sleeve  he  went  off  towards  town  to  buy  meat  and 
vegetables.  He  always  did  Saturday's  marketing  himself. 
At  the  butcher's  and  in  the  St.  Luke's  covered  market  he 
was  a  familiar  and  redoubtable  figure.  Among  the  sales- 
people who  stood  the  market  was  a  wrinkled,  hardy  old 


90  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

potato-woman  from  the  other  side  of  Moorthorne :  every 
Saturday  the  miser  bested  her  in  their  higgling-match,  and 
nearly  every  Saturday  she  scornfully  threw  at  him  the  same 
joke:  "  Get  thee  along  to  th'  post-office,  Mester  Terrick:* 
happen  they'll  give  thee  sixpenn'orth  o'  stamps  for  five- 
pence  ha'penny."  He  seldom  failed  to  laugh  heartily  at 
this. 

At  dinner  the  girls  could  perceive  that  the  shadow  of 
his  displeasure  had  slightly  lifted,  though  he  kept  a  frown- 
ing silence.  Expert  in  all  the  symptoms  of  his  moods,  they 
knew  that  in  a  few  hours  he  would  begin  to  talk  again,  at 
first  in  monosyllables,  and  then  in  short  detached  sentences. 
An  intimation  of  relief  diffused  itself  through  the  house 
like  a  hint  of  spring  in  February. 

These  domestic  upheavals  followed  always  the  same 
course,  and  Anna  had  learnt  to  suffer  the  later  stages  of 
them  with  calmness  and  even  with  impassivity.  Henry 
Mynors  had  not  called.  She  supposed  that  her  father  had 
expected  him  to  call  for  the  answer  which  she  had  forgot- 
ten to  give  him,  and  she  had  a  hope  that  he  would  come  in 
the  afternoon:  once  again  she  had  the  idea  that  something 
definite  and  satisfactory  might  result  if  she  could  only  see 
him — that  she  might,  as  it  were,  gather  inspiration  from 
the  mere  sight  of  his  face.  After  dinner,  while  the  girls 
were  washing  the  dinner  things  in  the  scullery,  Agnes's 
quick  ear  caught  the  sound  of  voices  in  the  parlour.  They 
listened.  Mynors  had  come.  Mr.  Tellwright  must  have 
seen  him  from  the  front  window  and  opened  the  door  to 
him  before  he  could  ring. 

*  Terrick:  a  corruption  of  Tellwright. 


WILLIE  91 

"  It's  him,"  said  Agnes,  excited. 

"  Who?  "  Anna  asked    self-consciously. 

"  Mr.  Mynors,  of  course,"  said  the  child  sharply,  mak- 
ing it  quite  plain  that  this  affectation  could  not  impose  on 
her  for  a  single  instant. 

"  Anna !  "  It  was  Mr.  Tellwright's  summons,  through 
the  parlour  window.  She  dried  her  hands,  doffed  her 
apron,  and  went  to  the  parlour,  animated  by  a  thousand 
fears  and  expectations.  Why  was  she  to  be  included  in 
the  colloquy? 

Mynors  rose  at  her  entrance  and  greeted  her  with  con- 
spicuous deference,  a  deference  which  made  her  feel 
ashamed. 

"  Hum ! "  the  old  man  growled,  but  he  was  obviously 
content.  "  I  gave  Anna  a  message  for  ye  yesterday,  Mr. 
Mynors,  but  her  forgot  to  deliver  it,  wench-like.  Ye  might 
ha'  been  saved  th'  trouble  o'  calling.  Now  as  ye're  here, 
I've  summat  for  tell  ye.  It  '11  be  Anna's  money  as  '11  go 
into  that  concern  o'  yours.  I've  none  by  me;  in  fact,  I'm 
a'most  fast  for  brass,  but  her  '11  have  as  near  two  thou- 
sand as  makes  no  matter  in  a  month's  time,  and  her  says 
her  '11  go  in  wi'  you  on  th'  strength  o'  my  recommenda- 
tion." 

This  speech  was  evidently  a  perfect  surprise  for  Henry 
Mynors.  For  a  moment  he  seemed  to  be  at  a  loss;  then 
his  face  gave  candid  expression  to  a  feeling  of  intense 
pleasure. 

"  You  know  all  about  this  business  then,  Miss  Mynors  ?  " 

She  blushed.     "  Father  has  told  me  something  about  it." 


92  ANNA   OF  THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  And  you  are  willing  to  be  my  partner  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  did  na'  say  that,"  Tellwright  interrupted. 
"  It  '11  be  Anna's  money,  but  i'  my  name." 

"  I  see,"  said  Mynors  gravely.  "  But  if  it  is  Miss 
Anna's  money,  why  should  not  she  be  the  partner?  "  He 
offered  one  of  his  courtly  diplomatic  smiles. 

"  Oh — but "  Anna  began  in  deprecation. 

Tellwright  laughed.  "  Ay !  "  he  said,  "  Why  not?  It 
'11  be  experience  for  th'  lass." 

"  Just  so,"  said  Mynors. 

Anna  stood  silent,  like  a  child  who  is  being  talked  about. 
There  was  a  pause. 

"  Would  you  care  for  that  arrangement,  Miss  Tell- 
wright ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  said. 

"  I  shall  try  to  justify  your  confidence.  I  needn't  say 
that  I  think  you  and  your  father  will  have  no  reason  to  be 
disappointed.  Two  thousand  pounds  is  of  course  only  a 

trifle  to  you,  but  it  is  a  great  deal  to  me,  and — and " 

He  hesitated.  Anna  did  not  surmise  that  he  was  too  much 
moved  by  the  sight  of  her  and  the  situation  to  continue, 
but  this  was  the  fact. 

"  There's  nobbut  one  point,  Mr.  Mynors,"  Tellwright 
said  bluntly,  "  and  that's  the  interest  on  th'  capital,  as 
must  be  deducted  before  reckoning  profits.  Us  must  have 
six  per  cent." 

"  But  I  thought  we  had  settled  it  at  five,"  said  Mynors 
with  sudden  firmness. 

"  We  'n  settled  as  you  shall  have  five  on  your  fifteen 


WILLIE  93 

hundred,"  the  miser  replied  with  imperturbable  audacity, 
"  but  us  mun  have  our  six." 

"  I  certainly  thought  we  had  thrashed  that  out  fully, 
and  agreed  that  the  interest  should  be  the  same  on  each 
side."  Mynors  was  alert  and  defensive. 

"  Nay,  young  man.  Us  mun  have  our  six.  We're  tak- 
kin'  a  risk." 

Mynors  pressed  his  lips  together.  He  was  taken  at  a 
disadvantage.  Mr.  Tellwright,  with  unscrupulous  clever- 
ness, had  utilised  the  effect  on  Mynors  of  his  daughter's 
presence  to  regain  a  position  from  which  the  younger  man 
had  definitely  ousted  him  a  few  days  before.  Mynors  was 
annoyed,  but  he  gave  no  sign  of  his  annoyance. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  at  length,  with  a  private  smile  at 
Anna,  to  indicate  that  it  was  out  of  regard  for  her  that  he 
yielded. 

Mr.  Tellwright  made  no  pretence  of  concealing  his  sat- 
isfaction. He,  too,  smiled  at  Anna  sardonically:  the  last 
vestige  of  the  morning's  irritation  vanished  in  a  glow  of 
triumph. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  must  go,"  said  Mynors,  looking  at  his 
watch.  "  There  is  a  service  at  chapel  at  three.  Our  re- 
vivalist came  down  with  Mrs.  Sutton  to  look  over  the  works 
this  morning,  and  I  told  him  I  should  be  at  his  service. 
So  I  must.  You  coming,  Mr.  Tellwright?  " 

"  Nay,  my  lad.  I'm  'owd  enough  to  leave  it  to  young 
uns." 

Anna  forced  her  courage  to  the  verge  of  rashness, 
moved  by  a  swift  impulse. 


94  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  Will  you  wait  one  minute?  "  she  said  to  Mynors.  "  I 
am  going  to  the  service.  If  I'm  late  back,  father,  Agnes 
will  see  to  the  tea.  Don't  wait  for  me."  She  looked  him 
straight  in  the  face.  It  was  one  of  the  bravest  acts  of  her 
life.  After  the  episode  of  breakfast,  to  suggest  a  pro- 
cedure which  might  entail  any  risk  upon  another  meal  was 
absolutely  heroic.  Tellwright  glanced  away  from  his 
daughter,  and  at  Mynors.  Anna  hurried  upstairs. 

"  Who's  thy  lawyer,  Mr.  Mynors  ?  "  Tellwright  asked. 

"  Dane,"  said  Mynors. 

"  That  '11  be  convenient.  Dane  does  my  bit  o'  business, 
too.  I'll  see  him,  and  make  a  bargain  wi'  him  for  th'  part- 
nership deed.  He  always  works  by  contract  for  me.  I've 
no  patience  wi'  six-and-eightpences." 

Mynors  assented. 

"  You  must  come  down  some  afternoon  and  look  over  the 
works,"  he  said  to  Anna  as  they  were  walking  down  Tra- 
falgar Road  towards  chapel. 

"  I  should  like  to,"  Anna  replied.  "  I've  never  been 
over  a  works  in  my  life." 

"  No?  You  are  going  to  be  a  partner  in  the  best  works 
of  its  size  in  Bursley,"  Mynors  said  enthusiastically. 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,"  she  smiled,  "  for  I  do  believe  I  own 
the  worst." 

"  What — Price's,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  Ah ! "  he  exclaimed,  and  seemed  to  be  thinking.  "  I 
wasn't  sure  whether  that  belonged  to  you  or  your  father. 
I'm  afraid  it  isn't  quite  the  best  of  properties.  But  per- 


WILLIE  95 

haps  I'd  better  say  nothing  about  that.  We  had  a  grand 
meeting  last  night.  Our  little  cornet-player  quite  lived  up 
to  his  reputation,  don't  you  think?  " 

"  Quite,"  she  said  faintly. 

"  You  enjoyed  the  meeting?  " 

"  No,"  she  blurted  out,  dismayed,  but  resolute  to  be 
honest. 

There  was  a  silence. 

"  But  you  were  at  the  early  prayer-meeting  this  morn- 
ing, I  hear." 

She  said  nothing  while  they  took  a  dozen  paces,  and  then 
murmured,  "  Yes." 

Their  eyes  met  for  a  second,  hers  full  of  trouble. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said  at  length,  "  perhaps — excuse  me 
saying  this — but  you  may  be  expecting  too  much " 

"Well?  "  She  encouraged  him,  prepared  now  to  finish 
what  had  been  begun. 

"  I  mean,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  that  I — we — cannot 
promise  you  any  sudden  change  of  feeling,  any  sudden  re- 
lief and  certainty,  such  as  some  people  experience.  At 
least,  I  never  had  it.  What  is  called  conversion  can  happen 
in  various  ways.  It  is  a  question  of  living,  of  constant 
endeavour,  with  the  example  of  Christ  always  before  us. 
It  need  not  always  be  a  sudden  wrench,  you  know,  from  the 
world.  Perhaps  you  have  been  expecting  too  much,"  he 
repeated,  as  though  offering  balm  with  that  phrase. 

She  thanked  him  sincerely,  but  not  with  her  lips,  only 
with  the  heart.  He  had  revealed  to  her  an  avenue  of  re- 
lease from  a  situation  which  had  seemed  on  all  sides  fatally 


96  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

closed.  She  sprang  eagerly  towards  it.  She  realised 
afresh  how  frightful  was  the  dilemma  from  which  there 
was  now  a  hope  of  escape,  and  she  was  grateful  accord- 
ingly. Before,  she  had  not  dared  steadily  to  face  its  ter- 
rors. She  wondered  that  even  her  father's  displeasure  or 
the  project  of  the  partnership  had  been  able  to  divert  her 
from  the  plight  of  her  soul.  Putting  these  mundane  things 
firmly  behind  her,  she  concentrated  the  activities  of  her 
brain  on  that  idea  of  Christ-like  living,  day  by  day,  hour 
by  hour,  of  a  gradual  aspiration  towards  Christ  and 
thereby  an  ultimate  arrival  at  the  state  of  being  saved. 
This  she  thought  she  might  accomplish;  this  gave  oppor- 
tunity of  immediate  effort,  dispensing  with  the  necessity 
of  an  impossible  violent  spiritual  metamorphosis.  They 
did  not  speak  again  until  they  had  reached  the  gates  of 
the  chapel,  when  Mynors,  who  had  to  enter  the  choir  from 
the  back,  bade  her  a  quiet  adieu.  Anna  enjoyed  the  serv- 
ice, which  passed  smoothly  and  uneventfully.  At  a  Re- 
vival, night  is  the  time  of  ecstasy  and  fervour  and  salva- 
tion; in  the  afternoon  one  must  be  content  with  prepara- 
tory praise  and  prayer. 

That  evening,  while  father  and  daughters  sat  in  the  par- 
lour after  supper,  there  was  a  ring  at  the  door.  Agnes 
ran  to  open,  and  found  Willie  Price.  It  had  begun  to  rain, 
and  the  visitor,  his  jacket-collar  turned  up,  was  wet  and 
draggled.  Agnes  left  him  on  the  mat  and  ran  back  to  the 
parlour. 

"  Young  Mr.  Price  wants  to  see  you,  father." 
Tellwright  motioned  to  her  to  shut  the  door. 


WILLIE  97 

"  You'd  best  see  him,  Anna,"  he  said.  "  It's  none  my 
business." 

"  But  what  has  he  come  about,  father?  " 

"  That  note  as  I  sent  down  this  morning.  I  told  owd 
Titus  as  he  mun  pay  us  twenty  pun'  on  Monday  morning 
certain,  or  us  should  distrain.  Them  as  can  pay  ten  pun, 
especially  in  bank  notes,  can  pay  twenty  pun,  and  thirty." 

"  And  suppose  he  says  he  can't  ?  " 

"  Tell  him  he  must.  I've  figured  it  out  and  changed  my 
mind  about  that  works.  Owd  Titus  isna'  done  for  yet, 
though  he's  getting  on  that  road.  Us  can  screw  another 
fifty  out  o'  him ;  that  '11  only  leave  six  months'  rent  owing ; 
then  us  can  turn  him  out.  He'll  go  bankrupt ;  us  can  claim 
for  our  rent  afore  th'  other  creditors,  and  us  '11  have  a 
hundred  or  a  hundred  and  twenty  in  hand  towards  doing 
the  owd  place  up  a  bit  for  a  new  tenant." 

"  Make  him  bankrupt,  father  ?  "  Anna  exclaimed.  It 
was  the  only  part  of  the  ingenious  scheme  which  she  had 
understood. 

"  Ay !  "  he  said  laconically. 

"  But "  (Would  Christ  have  driven  Titus  Price 

into  the  bankruptcy  court?) 

"  If  he  pays,  well  and  good." 

"  Hadn't  you  better  see  Mr.  William,  father?  " 

"  Whose  property  is  it,  mine  or  thine? "  Tellwright 
growled.  His  good  humour  was  still  precarious,  insecurely 
re-established,  and  Anna  obediently  left  the  room.  After 
all,  she  said  to  herself,  a  debt  is  a  debt,  and  honest  people 
pay  what  they  owe. 


98  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

It  was  in  an  uncomplaisant  tone  that  Anna  invited  Willie 
Price  to  the  front  parlour:  nervousness  always  made  her 
seem  harsh,  and  moreover  she  had  not  the  trick  of  hiding 
firmness  under  suavity. 

"  Will  you  come  this  way,  Mr.  Price?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  with  ingratiating,  eager  compliance. 
Dusk  was  falling,  and  the  room  in  shadow.  She  forgot 
to  ask  him  to  take  a  chair,  so  they  both  stood  up  during  the 
interview. 

"  A  grand  meeting  we  had  last  night,"  he  began,  twist- 
ing his  hat.  "  I  saw  you  there,  Miss  Tellwright." 

"  Yes." 

"  Yes.  There  was  a  splendid  muster  of  teachers.  I 
wanted  to  be  at  the  prayer-meeting  this  morning,  but 
couldn't  get  away.  Did  you  happen  to  go,  Miss  Tell- 
wright?" 

She  saw  that  he  knew  she  had  been  present,  and  gave  him 
another  curt  monosyllable.  She  would  have  liked  to  be 
kind  to  him,  to  reassure  him,  to  make  him  happy  and  com- 
fortable, so  ludicrous  and  touching  were  his  efforts  after 
a  social  urbanity  which  should  appease;  but,  just  as 
much  as  he,  she  was  unskilled  in  the  subtle  arts  of  con- 
verse. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued,  "  and  I  was  anxious  to  be  at  to- 
night's meeting,  but  the  dad  asked  me  to  come  up  here. 
He  said  I'd  better."  That  term,  "the  dad,"  uttered  in 
William's  slow,  drawling  voice,  seemed  to  show  Titus 
Price  in  a  new  light  to  Anna,  as  a  human  creature  loved,  not 
as  a  mere  gross  physical  organism :  the  effect  was  quite  sur- 


WILLIE  99 

prising.  William  went  on :  "  Can  I  see  your  father,  Miss 
Tellwright?" 

"  Is  it  about  the  rent?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  if  you  will  tell  me " 

"  Oh !  I  beg  pardon,"  he  said  quickly.  "  Of  course  I 
know  it's  your  property,  but  I  thought  Mr.  Tellwright 
always  saw  after  it  for  you.  It  was  he  that  wrote  that 
letter  this  morning,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  Anna  replied.    She  did  not  explain  the  situation. 

"  You  insist  on  another  twenty  pounds  on  Monday  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  We  paid  ten  last  Monday." 

"  But  there  is  still  over  a  hundred  owing." 

"  I  know,  but — oh,  Miss  Tellwright,  you  mustn't  be  hard 
on  us.  Trade's  bad." 

"  It  says  in  the  '  Signal '  that  trade  is  improving,"  she 
interrupted  sharply. 

"  Does  it?  "  he  said.  "  But  look  at  prices;  they're  cut 
till  there's  no  profit  left.  I  assure  you,  Miss  Tellwright, 
my  father  and  me  are  having  a  hard  struggle.  Every- 
thing's against  us,  and  the  works  in  particular,  as  you 
know." 

His  tone  was  so  earnest,  so  pathetic,  that  tears  of  com- 
passion almost  rose  to  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  those  simple 
nai've  blue  eyes  of  his.  His  lanky  figure  and  clumsily-fit- 
ting clothes,  his  feeble  placatory  smile,  the  twitching  move- 
ments of  his  long  hands,  all  contributed  to  the  effect  of 
his  defencelessness.  She  thought  of  the  text :  "  Blessed  are 


100  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

the  meek,"  and  saw  in  a  flash  the  deep  truth  of  it.  Here 
were  she  and  her  father,  rich,  powerful,  autocratic;  and 
there  were  Willie  Price  and  his  father,  commercial  hares 
hunted  by  hounds  of  creditors,  hares  that  turned  in  plain- 
tive appeal  to  those  greedy  jaws  for  mercy.  An  yet,  she, 
a  hound,  envied  at  that  moment  the  hares.  Blessed  are  the 
meek,  blessed  are  the  failures,  blessed  are  the  stupid,  for 
they,  unknown  to  themselves,  have  a  grace  which  is  denied 
to  the  haughty,  the  successful,  and  the  wise.  The  very  re- 
pulsiveness  of  old  Titus,  his  underhand  methods,  his  insin- 
cerities, only  served  to  increase  her  sympathy  for  the  pair. 
How  could  Titus  help  being  himself  any  more  than  Henry 
Mynors  could  help  being  himself?  And  that  idea  led  her 
to  think  of  the  prospective  partnership,  destined  by  every 
favourable  sign  to  brilliant  success,  and  to  contrast  it  with 
the  ignoble  and  forlorn  undertaking  in  Edward  Street. 

She  tried  to  discover  some  method  of  soothing  the  young 
man's  fears,  of  being  considerate  to  him  without  injuring 
her  father's  scheme. 

"  If  you  will  pay  what  you  owe,"  she  said,  "  we  will  spend 
it  all,  every  penny,  on  improving  the  works." 

"  Miss  Tellwright,"  he  answered  with  fatal  emphasis, 
"  we  cannot  pay." 

Ah!  She  wished  to  follow  Christ  day  by  day,  hour  by 
hour — constantly  to  endeavour  after  saintlinesss.  What 
was  she  to  do?  Left  to  herself,  she  might  have  said  in 
a  burst  of  impulsive  generosity,  "  I  forgive  you  all  arrears. 
Start  afresh."  But  her  father  had  to  be  reckoned 
with. 


WILLIE  101 

"  How  much  do  you  think  you  can  pay  on  Monday  ?  " 
she  asked  coldly. 

At  that  moment  her  father  entered  the  room.  His  first 
act  was  to  light  the  gas.  Willie  Price's  eyes  blinked  at 
the  glare,  as  though  he  were  trembling  before  the  antici- 
pated decree  of  this  implacable  old  man.  Anna's  heart 
beat  with  sympathetic  apprehension.  Tellwright  shook 
hands  grimly  with  the  youth,  who  restated  hurriedly  what 
he  had  said  to  Anna. 

"  It's  o'  this'n,'  the  old  man  began  with  finality,  and 
stopped.  Anna  caught  a  glance  from  him  dismissing  her. 
She  went  out  in  silence.  On  the  Monday  Titus  Price  paid 
another  twenty  pounds. 


VII:  THE  SEWING  MEETING 

ON  an  afternoon  ten  days  later,  Mr.  Button's  coach- 
man, Barrett  by  name,  arrived  at  Ephraim  Tell- 
wright's  back-door  with  a  note.  The  Tellwrights 
were  having  tea.  The  note  could  be  seen  in  his  enormous 
hand,  and  Agnes  went  out. 

"  An  answer,  if  you  please,  miss,"  he  said  to  her,  touch- 
ing his  hat,  and  giving  a  pull  to  the  leathern  belt  which, 
surrounding  his  waist,  alone  seemed  to  hold  his  frame  to- 
gether. Agnes,  much  impressed,  took  the  note.  She  had 
never  before  seen  that  resplendent  automaton  apart  from 
the  equipage  which  he  directed.  Always  afterwards,  Bar- 
rett formally  saluted  her  in  the  streets,  affording  her  thus, 
every  time,  a  thrilling  moment  of  delicious  joy. 

"  A  letter,  and  there's  an  answer,  and  he's  waiting,"  she 
cried,  running  into  the  parlour. 

"  Less  row !  "  said  her  father.     "  Here,  give  it  me." 

"It's  for  Miss  Tellwright— that's  Anna,  isn't  it?  Oh! 
Scent ! "  She  put  the  grey  envelope  to  her  nose  like  a 
flower. 

Anna,  secretly  as  excited  as  her  sister,  opened  the  note 
and  read :  "  Lansdowne  House,  Wednesday.  Dear  Miss 
Tellwright, — Mother  gives  tea  to  the  Sunday-school  Sew- 
ing Meeting  here  to-morrow.  Will  you  give  us  the  pleas- 
ure of  your  company?  I  do  not  think  you  haye  been  to 
any  of  the  S.  S.  S.  meetings  yet,  but  we  should  all  be  glad 

102 


THE   SEWING  MEETING  103 

to  see  you  and  to  have  your  assistance.  Everyone  is  work- 
ing very  hard  for  the  Autumn  Bazaar,  and  mother  has  set 
her  mind  on  the  Sunday-school  stall  being  the  best.  Do 
come,  will  you?  Excuse  this  short  notice.  Yours 
sincerely,  BEATRICE  SUTTON.  P.S. — We  begin  at 
3.30." 

"  They  want  me  to  go  to  their  sewing  meeting  to-mor- 
row," she  explained  timidly  to  her  father,  pushing  the  note 
towards  him  across  the  table.  "  Must  I  go,  father?  " 

"  What  dost  ask  me  for?  Please  thysen.  I've  nowt  do 
wi'  it." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go " 

"  Oh !     Sis,  do  go,"  Agnes  pleaded. 

"  Perhaps  I'd  better,"  she  agreed,  but  with  the  misgiv- 
ings of  diffidence.  "  I  haven't  a  rag  to  wear.  I  really 
must  have  a  new  dress,  father,  at  once." 

"  Hast  forgotten  as  that  there  coachman's  waiting?  " 
he  remarked  curtly. 

"  Shall  I  run  and  tell  him  you'll  go?  "  Agnes  suggested. 
"  It  '11  be  splendid  for  you." 

"  Don't  be  silly,  dear.     I  must  write." 

"  Well,  write  then,"  said  the  child  energetically.  "  I'll 
get  you  the  ink  and  paper."  She  flew  about  and  hovered 
over  Anna  while  the  answer  to  the  invitation  was  being 
written.  Anna  made  her  reply  as  short  and  simple  as  pos- 
sible, and  then  tendered  it  for  her  father's  inspection. 
"Will  that  do?" 

He  pretended  to  be  nonchalant,  but  in  fact  he  was  some- 
what interested. 


104  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  Thou's  forgotten  to  put  th'  date  in,"  was  all  his  com- 
ment, and  he  threw  the  note  back. 

"  I've  put  Wednesday." 

"  That's  not  the  date." 

"  Does  it  matter?  Beatrice  Sutton  only  puts  Wednes- 
day." 

His  response  was  to  walk  out  of  the  room. 

"  Is  he  vexed  ? "  Agnes  asked  anxiously.  There  had 
been  a  whole  week  of  almost  perfect  amenity. 

The  next  day  at  half-past  three  Anna,  having  put  on  her 
best  clothes,  was  ready  to  start.  She  had  seen  almost 
nothing  of  social  life,  and  the  prospect  of  taking  part  in 
this  entertainment  at  the  Suttons'  filled  her  with  trepida- 
tion. Should  she  arrive  early,  in  which  case  she  would 
have  to  talk  more,  or  late,  in  which  case  there  would  be  the 
ordeal  of  entering  a  crowded  room?  She  could  not  decide. 
She  went  into  her  father's  bedroom,  whose  window  over- 
looked Trafalgar  Road,  and  saw  from  behind  a  curtain 
that  small  groups  of  ladies  were  continually  passing  up  the 
street  to  disappear  into  Alderman  Sutton's  house.  Most 
of  the  women  she  recognised ;  others  she  knew  but  vaguely 
by  sight.  Then  the  stream  ceased,  and  suddenly  she  heard 
the  kitchen  clock  strike  four.  She  ran  downstairs — 
Agnes,  swollen  by  importance,  was  carrying  her  father's 
tea  into  the  parlour- — and  hastened  out  by  the  back  way. 
In  another  moment  she  was  at  the  Suttons'  front-door.  A 
servant  in  black  alpaca,  with  white  wristbands,  cap,  stream- 
ers, and  embroidered  apron  (each  article  a  dernier  cri  from 


THE   SEWING   MEETING  105 

Bostock's  great  shop  at  Hanbridge),  asked  her  in  a  sub- 
dued and  respectful  tone  to  step  within.  Externally  there 
had  been  no  sign  of  the  unusual,  but  once  inside  the  house 
Anna  found  it  a  humming  hive  of  activity.  Women  laden 
with  stuffs  and  implements  were  crossing  the  picture-hung 
hall,  their  footsteps  noiseless  on  the  thick  rugs  which  lay 
about  in  rich  confusion.  On  either  hand  was  an  open  door, 
and  from  each  door  came  the  sound  of  many  eager  voices. 
Beyond  these  doors  a  broad  staircase  rose  majestically  to  un- 
seen heights,  closing  the  vista  of  the  hall.  As  the  servant 
was  demanding  Anna's  name,  Beatrice  Sutton,  radiant  and 
gorgeous,  came  with  a  rush  out  of  the  room  to  the  left,  the 
dining-room,  and,  taking  her  by  both  hands,  kissed  her. 

"  My  dear,  we  thought  you  were  never  coming.  Every- 
one's here,  except  the  men,  of  course.  Come  along  up- 
stairs and  take  your  things  off.  I'm  so  glad  you've  kept 
your  promise." 

"  Did  you  think  I  should  break  it?  "  said  Anna,  as  they 
ascended  the  easy  gradient  of  the  stairs. 

"  Oh,  no,  my  dear !    But  you're  such  a  shy  little  bird." 

The  conception  of  herself  as  a  shy  little  bird  amused 
Anna.  By  a  curious  chain  of  ideas  she  came  to  wonder 
who  could  clean  those  stairs  the  better,  she  or  this  gay  and 
flitting  butterfly  in  a  pale  green  tea-gown.  Beatrice  led 
the  way  to  a  large  bedroom,  crammed  with  furniture  and 
knick-knacks.  There  were  three  mirrors  in  this  spacious 
apartment — one  in  the  wardrobe,  a  cheval-glass,  and  a 
third  over  the  mantelpiece;  the  frame  of  the  last  was  bor- 
dered with  photographs. 


106  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  This  is  my  room,"  said  Beatrice.  "  Will  you  put  your 
things  on  the  bed?  "  The  bed  was  already  laden  with  hats, 
bonnets,  jackets,  and  wraps. 

"  I  hope  your  mother  won't  give  me  anything  fancy  to 
do,"  Anna  said.  "  I'm  no  good  at  anything  except  plain 
sewing." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  Beatrice  answered  carelessly. 
"  It's  all  plain  sewing."  She  drew  a  cardboard  box  from 
her  pocket,  and  offered  it  to  Anna.  "  Here,  have  one." 
They  were  choclate  creams. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Anna,  taking  one.  Aren't  they 
very  expensive?  I've  never  seen  any  like  these  be- 
fore." 

"  Oh !  Just  ordinary.  Four  shillings  a  pound.  Papa 
buys  them  for  me:  I  simply  dote  on  them.  I  love  to  eat 
them  in  bed,  if  I  can't  sleep."  Beatrice  made  these  state- 
ments with  her  mouth  full.  "  Don't  you  adore  chocolates?  " 
she  added. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Anna  lamely  replied.  "  Yes,  I  like 
them."  She  only  adored  her  sister,  and  perhaps  God;  and 
this  was  the  first  time  she  had  tasted  chocolate. 

"  I  couldn't  live  without  them,"  said  Beatrice.  "  Your 
hair  is  lovely.  I  never  saw  such  a  brown.  What  wash  do 
you  use  ?  " 

"  Wash  ?  "  Anna  repeated. 

"  Yes,  don't  you  put  anything  on  it?  " 

"  No,  never." 

"  Well !  Take  care  you  don't  lose  it,  that's  all.  Now, 
will  you  come  and  have  just  a  peep  at  my  studio — where  I 


THE   SEWING  MEETING  107 

paint,  you  know?  I'd  like  you  to  see  it  before  we  go 
down." 

They  proceeded  to  a  small  room  on  the  second  floor,  with 
a  sloping  ceiling  and  a  dormer  window. 

"  I'm  obliged  to  have  this  room,"  Beatrice  explained, 
"  because  it's  the  only  one  in  the  house  with  a  north  light, 
and  of  course  you  can't  do  without  that.  How  do  you 
like  it?" 

Anna  said  that  she  liked  it  very  much. 

The  walls  of  the  room  were  hung  with  various  odd  cur- 
tains of  Eastern  design.  Attached  somehow  to  these  cur- 
tains some  coloured  plates,  bits  of  pewter,  and  a  few  fans 
were  hung  high  in  apparently  precarious  suspense.  Lower 
down  on  the  walls  were  pictures  and  sketches,  chiefly  un- 
framed,  of  flowers,  fishes,  loaves  of  bread,  candlesticks, 
mugs,  oranges  and  tea-trays.  On  an  immense  easel  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  was  an  unfinished  portrait  of  a  man. 

"  Who's  that?  "  Anna  asked,  ignorant  of  those  rules  of 
caution  which  are  observed  by  the  practised  frequenter  of 
studios. 

"Don't  you  know?"  Beatrice  exclaimed,  shocked. 
"  That's  papa ;  I'm  doing  his  portrait ;  he  sits  in  that  chair 
there.  The  silly  old  master  at  the  school  won't  let  me  draw 
from  life  yet — he  keeps  me  to  the  antique — so  I  said  to 
myself  I  would  study  the  living  model  at  home.  I'm  dread- 
fully in  earnest  about  it,  you  know — I  really  am.  Mother 
says  I  work  far  too  long  up  here." 

Anna  was  unable  to  perceive  that  the  picture  bore  any 
resemblance  to  Alderman  Button,  except  in  the  matter  of 


108  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

the  aldermanic  robe,  which  she  could  now  trace  beneath  the 
portrait's  neck.  The  studies  on  the  wall  pleased  her  much 
better.  Their  realism  amazed  her.  One  could  make  out 
not  only  that  here,  for  instance,  was  a  fish — there  was  no 
doubt  that  it  was  a  halibut;  the  solid  roundness  of  the 
oranges  and  the  glitter  on  the  tea-trays  seemed  miracu- 
lously achieved.  "  Have  you  actually  done  all  these  ?  "  she 
asked,  in  genuine  admiration.  "  I  think  they're  splendid." 

"  Oh,  yes,  they're  all  mine ;  they're  only  still-life  stud- 
ies," Beatrice  said  contemptuously  of  them,  but  she  was 
nevertheless  flattered. 

"  I  see  now  that  that  is  Mr.  Sutton,"  Anna  said,  point- 
ing to  the  easel-picture. 

"  Yes,  it's  pa  right  enough.  But  I'm  sure  I'm  boring 
you.  Let's  go  down  now,  or  perhaps  we  shall  catch  it  from 
mother." 

As  Anna,  in  the  wake  of  Beatrice,  entered  the  drawing- 
room,  a  dozen  or  more  women  glanced  at  her  with  keen  curi- 
osity, and  the  even  flow  of  conversation  ceased  for  a  mo- 
ment, to  be  immediately  resumed.  In  the  centre  of  the 
room,  with  her  back  to  the  fire-place,  Mrs.  Sutton  was  seated 
at  a  square  table,  cutting  out.  Although  the  afternoon 
was  warm,  she  had  a  white  woollen  wrap  over  her  shoulders ; 
for  the  rest  she  was  attired  in  plain  black  silk,  with  a  large 
stuff  apron  containing  a  pocket  for  scissors  and  chalk. 
She  jumped  up  with  the  activity  of  which  Beatrice  had  in- 
herited a  part,  and  greeted  Anna,  kissing  her  heartily. 

"  How  are  you,  my  dear?  So  pleased  you  have  come." 
The  time-worn  phrases  came  from  her  thin,  nervous  lips 


THE   SEWING   MEETING  109 

full  of  a  sincere  and  kindly  welcome.  Her  wrinkled  face 
broke  into  a  warm,  life-giving  smile.  "  Beatrice,  find  Miss 
Anna  a  chair."  There  were  two  chairs  in  the  bay  of  the 
window,  and  one  of  them  was  occupied  by  Miss  Dickinson, 
whom  Anna  slightly  knew.  The  other,  being  empty,  was 
assigned  to  the  late-comer. 

"  Now  you  want  something  to  do,  I  suppose,"  said 
Beatrice. 

"  Please." 

"  Mother,  let  Miss  Tellwright  have  something  to  get  on 
with  at  once.  She  has  a  lot  of  time  to  make  up." 

Mrs.  Sutton,  who  had  sat  down  again,  smiled  across  at 
Anna.  "  Let  me  see,  now,  what  can  we  give  her?  " 

"  There's  several  of  those  boys'  nightgowns  ready 
tacked,"  said  Miss  Dickinson,  who  was  stitching  at  a  boy's 
nightgown.  "  Here's  one  half -finished,"  and  she  picked 
up  an  inchoate  garment  from  the  floor.  "  Perhaps  Miss 
Tellwright  wouldn't  mind  finishing  it." 

"  Yes,  I  will  do  my  best  at  it,"  said  Anna. 

The  thoughtless  girl  had  arrived  at  the  sewing  meeting 
without  needles  or  thimbles  or  scissors,  but  one  lady  or  an- 
other supplied  these  deficiencies,  and  soon  she  was  at  work. 
She  stitched  her  best  and  her  hardest,  with  head  bent,  and 
all  her  wits  concentrated  on  the  task.  Most  of  the  others 
seemed  to  be  doing  likewise,  though  not  to  the  detriment  of 
conversation.  Beatrice  sank  down  on  a  stool  near  her 
mother,  and,  threading  a  needle  with  coloured  silk,  took  up 
a  long  piece  of  elaborate  embroidery. 

The  general  subjects  of  talk  were  the  Revival,  now  over, 


110  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

with  a  superb  record  of  seventy  saved  souls,  the  school- 
treat  shortly  to  occur,  the  summer  holidays,  the  fashions, 
and  the  change  of  ministers  which  would  take  place  in 
August.  The  talkers  were  the  wives  and  daughters  of 
tradesmen  and  small  manufacturers,  together  with  a  few 
girls  of  a  somewhat  lower  status,  employed  in  shops :  it  was 
for  the  sake  of  these  latter  that  the  sewing  meeting  was 
always  fixed  for  the  weekly  half-holiday.  The  splendour 
of  Mrs.  Button's  drawing-room  was  a  little  dazzling  to  most 
of  the  guests,  and  Mrs.  Sutton  herself  seemed  scarcely  of 
a  piece  with  it.  The  fact  was  that  the  luxury  of  the  abode 
was  mainly  due  to  Alderman  Sutton's  inability  to  refuse 
anything  to  his  daughter,  whose  tastes  lay  in  the  direction 
of  rich  draperies,  large  or  quaint  chairs,  occasional  tables, 
dwarf  screens,  hand-painted  mirrors,  and  an  opulence  of 
bric-a-brac.  The  hand  of  Beatrice  might  be  perceived 
everywhere,  even  in  the  position  of  the  piano,  whose  back, 
adorned  with  carelessly-flung  silks  and  photographs,  was 
turned  away  from  the  wall.  The  pictures  on  the  wall  had 
been  acquired  gradually  by  Mr.  Sutton  at  auction  sales: 
it  was  commonly  held  that  he  had  an  excellent  taste  in  pic- 
tures, and  that  his  daughter's  aptitude  for  the  arts  came 
from  him,  and  not  from  her  mother.  The  gilt  clock  and 
side  pieces  on  the  mantelpiece  were  also  peculiarly  Mr.  Sut- 
ton's, having  been  publicly  presented  to  him  by  the  direct- 
ors of  a  local  building  society  of  which  he  had  been  chair- 
man for  many  years. 

Less  intimidated  by  all  this  unexampled  luxury  than  she 
was  reassured  by  the  atmosphere  of  combined  and  homely 


THE   SEWING   MEETING  111 

effort,  the  lowliness  of  several  of  her  companions,  and  the 
kind,  simple  face  of  Mrs.  Sutton,  Anna  quickly  began  to 
feel  at  ease.  She  paused  in  her  work,  and,  glancing  around 
her,  happened  to  catch  the  eye  of  Miss  Dickinson,  who 
offered  a  remark  about  the  weather.  Miss  Dickinson  was 
head-assistant  at  a  draper's  in  St.  Luke's  Square,  and  a 
pillar  of  the  Sunday-school,  which  Sunday  by  Sunday  and 
year  by  year  had  watched  her  develop  from  a  rosy-cheeked 
girl  into  a  confirmed  spinster  with  sallow  and  warted  face. 
Miss  Dickinson  supported  her  mother,  and  was  a  pattern 
to  her  sex.  She  was  lovable,  but  had  never  been  loved.  She 
would  have  made  an  admirable  wife  and  mother,  but  fate 
had  decided  that  this  material  was  to  be  wasted.  Miss 
Dickinson  found  compensation  for  the  rigour  of  destiny 
in  gossip  as  innocent  as  indiscreet.  It  was  said  that  she 
had  a  tongue. 

"  I  hear,"  said  Miss  Dickinson,  lowering  her  contralto 
voice  to  a  confidential  tone,  "  that  you  are  going  into  part- 
nership with  Mr.  Mynors,  Miss  Tellwright." 

The  suddenness  of  the  attack  took  Anna  by  surprise. 
Her  first  defensive  impulse  was  boldly  to  deny  the  state- 
ment, or  at  the  least  to  say  that  it  was  premature.  A  fort- 
night ago,  under  similar  circumstances,  she  would  not  have 
hesitated  to  do  so.  But  for  more  than  a  week  Anna  had 
been  "  leading  a  new  life,"  which  chiefly  meant  a  meticulous 
avoidance  of  the  sins  of  speech.  Never  to  deviate  from  the 
truth,  never  to  utter  an  unkind  or  a  thoughtless  word,  under 
whatever  provocation:  these  were  two  of  her  self-imposed 
rules.  "  Yes,"  she  answered  Miss  Dickinson,  "  I  am." 


112  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  Rather  a  novelty,  isn't  it?  "  Miss  Dickinson  smiled 
amiably. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Anna.  "  It's  only  a  business  ar- 
rangement; father  arranged  it.  Really  I  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it,  and  I  had  no  idea  that  people  were  talking 
about  it." 

"  Oh !  Of  course  7  should  never  breathe  a  syllable," 
Miss  Dickinson  said  with  emphasis.  "  I  make  a  practice 
of  never  talking  about  other  people's  affairs.  I  always 
find  that  best,  don't  you?  But  I  happened  to  hear  it  men- 
tioned in  the  shop." 

"  It's  very  funny  how  things  get  abroad,  isn't  it?  "  said 
Anna. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  Miss  Dickinson  concurred.  "  Mr.  Mynors 
hasn't  been  to  our  sewing  meetings  for  quite  a  long  time, 
but  I  expect  he'll  turn  up  to-day." 

Anna  took  thought.  "  Is  this  a  sort  of  special  meet- 
ing, then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  at  all.  But  we  all  of  us  said  just  now,  while 
you  were  upstairs,  that  he  would  be  sure  to  come,"  Miss 
Dickinson's  features,  skilful  in  innuendo,  conveyed  that 
which  was  too  delicate  for  utterance.  Anna  said  nothing. 

"  You  see  a  good  deal  of  him  at  your  house,  don't  you  ?  " 
Miss  Dickinson  continued. 

"  He  comes  sometimes  to  see  father  on  business,"  Anna 
replied  sharply,  breaking  one  of  her  rules. 

"  Oh !  Of  course  I  meant  that.  You  didn't  suppose  I 
meant  anything  else,  did  you  ? "  Miss  Dickinson  smiled 
pleasantly.  She  was  thirty-five  years  of  age.  Twenty  of 


THE   SEWING   MEETING  113 

those  years  had  passed  in  a  desolating  routine;  she  had  ex- 
isted in  the  midst  of  life  and  never  lived;  she  knew  no  finer 
joy  than  that  which  she  at  that  moment  experienced. 

Again  Anna  offered  no  reply.  The  door  opened,  and 
every  eye  was  centred  on  the  stately  Mrs.  Clayton  Vernon, 
who,  with  Mrs.  Banks,  the  minister's  wife,  was  in  charge 
of  the  other  half  of  the  sewing  party  in  the  dining-room. 
Mrs.  Clayton  Vernon  had  heroic  proportions,  a  nose  which 
everyone  admitted  to  be  aristocratic,  exquisite  tact,  and  the 
calm  consciousness  of  social  superiority.  In  Bursley  she 
was  a  great  lady ;  her  instincts  were  those  of  a  great  lady ; 
and  she  would  have  been  a  great  lady  no  matter  to  what 
sphere  her  God  had  called  her.  She  had  abundant 
white  hair,  and  wore  a  flowered  purple  silk,  in  the  antique 
taste. 

"  Beatrice,  my  dear,"  she  began,  "  you  have  deserted 
us." 

"  Have  I,  Mrs.  Vernon  ?  "  the  girl  answered  with  invol- 
untary deference.  "  I  was  just  coming  in." 

"  Well,  I  am  sent  as  a  deputation  from  the  other  room 
to  ask  you  to  sing  something." 

"  I'm  very  busy,  Mrs.  Vernon.  I  shall  never  get  this 
mantel-cloth  finished  in  time." 

"  We  shall  all  work  better  for  a  little  music,"  Mrs.  Clay- 
ton Vernon  urged.  "  Your  voice  is  a  precious  gift,  and 
should  be  used  for  the  benefit  of  all.  We  entreat,  my  dear 
girl." 

Beatrice  arose  from  the  footstool  and  dropped  her  em- 
broidery. 


114 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Clayton  Vernon.  "If  both 
doors  are  left  open  we  shall  hear  nicely." 

"  What  would  you  like?  "  Beatrice  asked. 

"  I  once  heard  you  sing  'Nazareth,'  and  I  shall  never 
forget  it.  Sing  that.  It  will  do  us  all  good." 

Mrs.  Clayton  Vernon  departed  with  the  large  movement 
of  an  argosy,  and  Beatrice  sat  down  to  the  piano  and  re- 
moved her  bracelets.  "  The  accompaniment  is  simply 
frightful  towards  the  end,"  she  said,  looking  at  Anna  with 
a  grimace.  "  Excuse  mistakes."  • 

During  the  song,  Mrs.  Sutton  beckoned  with  her  finger 
to  Anna  to  come  and  occupy  the  stool  vacated  by  Beatrice. 
Glad  to  leave  the  vicinity  of  Miss  Dickinson,  Anna  obeyed, 
creeping  on  tiptoe  across  the  intervening  space.  "  I 
thought  I  would  like  to  have  you  near  me,  my  dear,"  she 
whispered  maternally.  When  Beatrice  had  sung  the  song 
and  somehow  executed  that  accompaniment  which  has  ter- 
rorised whole  multitudes  of  drawing-room  pianists,  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  applause  from  both  rooms.  Mrs.  Sut- 
ton bent  down  and  whispered  in  Anna's  ear :  "  Her  voice 
has  been  very  well  trained,  has  it  not?"  "Yes,  very," 
Anna  replied.  But,  though  "  Nazareth  "  had  seemed  to 
her  wonderful,  she  had  neither  understood  it  nor  enjoyed  it. 
She  tried  to  like  it,  but  the  effect  of  it  on  her  was  bizarre 
rather  than  pleasing. 

Shortly  after  half-past  five  the  gong  sounded  for  tea, 
and  the  ladies,  bidden  by  Mrs.  Sutton,  unanimously 
thronged  into  the  hall  and  towards  a  room  at  the  back  of 
the  house.  Beatrice  came  and  took  Anna  by  the  arm.  As 


THE   SEWING   MEETING  115 

they  were  crossing  the  hall  there  was  a  ring  at  the  door. 
"  There's  father — and  Mr.  Banks,  too,"  Beatrice  ex- 
claimed, opening  to  them.  Everyone  in  the  vicinity,  ani- 
mated suddenly  by  this  appearance  of  the  male  sex,  turned 
with  welcoming  smiles.  "  A  greeting  to  you  all,"  the  min- 
ister ejaculated  with  formal  suavity  as  he  removed  his  low 
hat.  The  Alderman  beamed  a  rather  absent-minded  good- 
will on  the  entire  company,  and  said :  "  Well !  I  see  we're 
just  in  time  for  tea."  Then  he  kissed  his  daughter,  and 
she  accepted  from  him  his  hat  and  stick.  "  Miss  Tell- 
wright,  pa,"  Beatrice  said,  drawing  Anna  forward:  he 
shook  hands  with  her  heartily,  emerging  for  a  moment 
from  the  benignant  dream  in  which  he  seemed  usually  to 
exist. 

That  air  of  being  rapt  by  some  inward  vision,  common 
in  very  old  men,  probably  signified  nothing  in  the  case  of 
William  Sutton:  it  was  a  habitual  pose  into  which  he  had 
perhaps  unconsciously  fallen.  But  people  connected  it 
with  his  humble  archaeological,  geological,  and  zoological 
hobbies,  which  had  sprung  from  his  membership  of  the 
Five  Towns  Field  Club,  and  which  most  of  his  acquaint- 
ances regarded  with  amiable  secret  disdain.  At  a  school- 
treat  once,  held  at  a  popular  rural  resort,  he  had  taken 
some  of  the  teachers  to  a  cave,  and  pointing  out  the  wave- 
like  formation  of  its  roof,  had  told  them  that  this  particular 
phenomenon  had  actually  been  caused  by  waves  of  the  sea. 
The  discovery,  valid  enough  and  perfectly  substantiated  by 
an  enquiry  into  the  levels,  was  extremely  creditable  to  the 
amateur  geologist,  but  it  seriously  impaired  his  reputation 


116  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

among  the  Wesley  an  community  as  a  shrewd  man  of  the 
world.  Few  believed  the  statement,  or  even  tried  to  believe 
it,  and  nearly  all  thenceforth  looked  on  him  as  a  man  who 
must  be  humoured  in  his  harmless  hallucinations  and  in- 
explicable curiosities.  On  the  other  hand,  the  collection  of 
arrowheads,  Roman  pottery,  fossils,  and  birds'  eggs  which 
he  had  given  to  the  Museum  in  the  Wedgwood  Institution 
was  always  viewed  with  municipal  pride. 

The  tea-room  opened  by  a  large  French  window  into  a 
conservatory,  and  a  table  was  laid  down  the  whole  length 
of  the  room  and  the  conservatory.  Mr.  Sutton  sat  at  one 
end  and  the  minister  at  the  other,  but  neither  Mrs.  Sutton 
nor  Beatrice  occupied  a  distinctive  place.  The  ancient 
clumsy  custom  of  having  tea-urns  on  the  table  itself  had 
been  abolished  by  Beatrice,  who  had  read  in  a  paper  that 
carving  was  now  never  done  at  table,  but  by  a  neatly- 
dressed  parlour-maid  at  the  sideboard.  Consequently  the 
tea-urns  were  exiled  to  the  sideboard,  and  the  tea  dispensed 
by  a  couple  of  maids.  Thus,  as  Beatrice  had  explained 
to  her  mother,  the  hostess  was  left  free  to  devote  herself 
to  the  social  arts.  The  board  was  richly  spread  with  fancy 
breads  and  cakes,  jams  of  Mrs.  Sutton's  own  celebrated 
preserving,  diverse  sandwiches  compiled  by  Beatrice,  and 
one  or  two  large  examples  of  the  famous  Bursley  pork-pie. 
Numerous  as  the  company  was,  several  chairs  remained 
empty  after  everyone  was  seated.  Anna  found  herself 
again  next  to  Miss  Dickinson,  and  five  places  from  the  min- 
ister, in  the  conservatory.  Beatrice  and  her  mother  were 
higher  up,  in  the  room.  Grace  was  sung,  by  request  of 


THE   SEWING   MEETING  117 

Mrs.  Sutton.  At  first,  silence  prevailed  among  the  guests, 
and  the  enquiries  of  the  maids  about  milk  and  sugar  were 
almost  painfully  audible.  Then  Mr.  Banks,  glancing  up 
the  long  vista  of  the  table  and  pretending  to  descry  some 
object  in  the  distance,  called  out: 

"  Worthy  host,  I  doubt  not  you  are  there,  but  I  can 
only  see  you  with  the  eye  of  faith." 

At  this  all  laughed,  and  a  natural  ease  was  established. 
The  minister  and  Mrs.  Clayton  Vernon,  who  sat  on  his 
right,  exchanged  badinage  on  the  merits  and  demerits 
of  pork-pies,  and  their  neighbours  formed  an  appreciative 
audience.  Then  there  was  a  sharp  ring  at  the  front  door, 
and  one  of  the  maids  went  out. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  ?  "  Miss  Dickinson  whispered  to  Anna. 

"What?"  asked  Anna. 

"  That  he  would  come  to-day — Mr.  Mynors,  I  mean." 

"  Who  can  that  be?  "  Mrs.  Button's  voice  was  heard 
from  the  room. 

"  I  dare  say  it's  Henry,  mother,"  Beatrice  answered. 

Mynors  entered,  joyous  and  self-possessed,  a  white  rose 
in  his  coat :  he  shook  hands  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sutton,  sent 
a  greeting  down  the  table  to  Mr.  Banks  and  Mrs.  Clayton 
Vernon,  and  offered  a  general  apology  for  being  late. 

"  Sit  here,"  said  Beatrice  to  him  sharply,  indicating  a 
chair  between  Mrs.  Banks  and  herself.  "  Mrs.  Banks  has 
a  word  to  say  to  you  about  the  singing  of  that  anthem  last 
Sunday." 

Mynors  made  some  laughing  rejoinder,  and  the  voices 
sank  so  that  Anna  could  not  catch  what  was  said. 


118  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  That's  a  new  frock  that  Miss  Sutton  is  wearing  to- 
day," Miss  Dickinson  remarked  in  an  undertone. 

"  It  looks  new,"  Anna  agreed. 

"Do  you  like  it?" 

"Yes.     Don't  you?" 

"  Hum !  Yes.  It  was  made  at  Brunt's  at  Hanbridge. 
It's  quite  the  fashion  to  go  there  now,"  said  Miss  Dickin- 
son, and  added  almost  inaudibly,  "  She's  put  it  on  for 
Mr.  Mynors.  You  saw  how  she  saved  that  chair  for  him." 

Anna  made  no  reply. 

"  Did  you  know  they  were  engaged  once?  "  Miss  Dickin- 
son resumed. 

"  No,"  said  Anna. 

"  At  least  people  said  they  were.  It  was  all  over  the 
town — oh !  let  me  see,  three  years  ago." 

"  I  had  not  heard,"  said  Anna. 

During  the  rest  of  the  meal  she  said  little.  On  some 
natures  Miss  Dickinson's  gossip  had  the  effect  of  bringing 
them  to  silence.  Anna  had  not  seen  Mynors  since  the 
previous  Sunday,  and  now  she  was  apparently  unperceived 
by  him.  He  talked  gaily  with  Beatrice  and  Mrs.  Banks: 
that  group  was  a  centre  of  animation.  Anna  envied  their 
ease  of  manner,  their  smooth  and  sparkling  flow  of  conver- 
sation. She  had  the  sensation  of  feeling  vulgar,  clumsy, 
tongue-tied;  Mynors  and  Beatrice  possessed  something 
which  she  would  never  possess.  So  they  had  been  engaged ! 
But  had  they?  Or  was  it  an  idle  rumour,  manufactured 
by  one  who  spent  her  life  in  such  creations?  Anna  was 
conscious  of  misgivings.  She  had  despised  Beatrice  once, 


THE   SEWING   MEETING  119 

but  now  it  seemed  that,  after  all,  Beatrice  was  the  natural 
equal  of  Henry  Mynors.  Was  it  more  likely  that  Mynors 
or  she,  Anna,  should  be  mistaken  in  Beatrice?  That 
Beatrice  had  generous  instincts  she  was  sure.  Anna  lost 
confidence  in  herself;  she  felt  humbled,  out-of -place,  and 
shamed. 

"  If  our  hostess  and  the  company  will  kindly  excuse  me," 
said  the  minister  with  a  pompous  air,  looking  at  his  watch, 
"  I  must  go.  I  have  an  important  appointment,  or  an 
appointment  which  some  people  think  is  important." 

He  got  up  and  made  various  adieux.  The  elaborate 
meal,  complex  with  fifty  dainties,  each  of  which  had  to  be 
savoured,  was  not  nearly  over.  The  parson  stopped  in  his 
course  up  the  room  to  speak  with  Mrs.  Sutton.  After  he 
had  shaken  hands  with  her,  he  caught  the  admired  violet 
eyes  of  his  slim  wife,  a  lady  of  independent  fortune  whom 
the  wives  of  circuit  stewards  found  it  difficult  to  please  in 
the  matter  of  furniture,  and  who,  despite  her  forty  years, 
still  kept  something  of  the  pose  of  a  spoiled  beauty.  As 
a  minister's  spouse  this  languishing,  but  impeccable  and 
invariably  correct,  dame  was  unique  even  in  the  experience 
of  Mrs.  Clayton  Vernon. 

"  Shall  you  not  be  home  early,  Rex  ?  "  she  asked  in  the 
tone  of  a  young  wife  lounging  amid  the  delicate  odours 
of  a  boudoir. 

"  My  love,"  he  replied  with  the  stern  fixity  of  a  histrionic 
martyr,  "  did  you  ever  know  me  have  a  free  evening?  " 

The  Alderman  accompanied  his  pastor  to  the  door. 

After  tea   Mynors  was  one  of  the  first  to  leave  the  room, 


120  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

and  Anna  one  of  the  last,  but  he  accosted  her  in  the  hall, 
on  the  way  back  to  the  drawing-room,  and  asked  how  she 
was,  and  how  Agnes  was,  with  such  deference  and  sincerity 
of  regard  for  herself  and  everything  that  was  hers  that 
she  could  not  fail  to  be  impressed.  Her  sense  of  humilia- 
tion and  of  uncertainty  was  effaced  by  a  single  word,  a 
single  glance.  Uplifted  by  a  delicious  reassurance,  she 
passed  into  the  drawing-room,  expecting  him  to  follow: 
strange  to  say,  he  did  not  do  so.  Work  was  resumed,  but 
with  less  ardour  than  before.  It  was  in  fact  impossible  to 
be  strenuously  diligent  after  one  of  Mrs.  Sutton's  teas,  and 
in  every  heart,  save  those  which  beat  over  the  most  perfect 
and  vigorous  digestive  organs,  there  was  a  feeling  of  re- 
pentance. The  building  society's  clock  on  the  mantelpiece 
intoned  seven:  all  expressed  surprise  at  the  lateness  of  the 
hour,  and  Mrs.  Clayton  Vernon,  pleading  fatigue  after  her 
recent  indisposition,  quietly  departed.  As  soon  as  she  had 
gone,  Anna  said  to  Mrs.  Sutton  that  she  too  must  go. 

"  Why,  my  dear?  "  Mrs.  Sutton  asked. 

"  I  shall  be  needed  at  home,"  Anna  replied. 

"  Ah !  In  that  case — I  will  come  upstairs  with  you, 
my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Sutton. 

When  they  were  in  the  bedroom,  Mrs.  Sutton  suddenly 
clasped  her  hand.  "  How  is  it  with  you,  dear  Anna?  "  she 
said,  gazing  anxiously  into  the  girl's  eyes.  Anna  knew 
what  she  meant,  but  made  no  answer.  "  Is  it  well?  "  the 
earnest  old  woman  asked. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Anna,  averting  her  eyes.  "  I  am  try- 
ing." 


THE   SEWING   MEETING  121 

Mrs.  Sutton  kissed  her  almost  passionately.  "  Ah !  my 
dear,"  she  exclaimed  with  an  impulsive  gesture,  "  I  am 
glad,  so  glad.  I  did  so  want  to  have  a  word  with  you. 
You  must  *  lean  hard,'  as  Miss  Havergal  says.  '  Lean 
hard  '  on  Him.  Do  not  be  afraid."  And  then,  changing 
her  tone :  "  You  are  looking  pale,  Anna.  You  want  a  holi- 
day. We  shall  be  going  to  the  Isle  of  Man  in  August  or 
September.  Would  your  father  let  you  come  with  us  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Anna.  She  knew,  however,  that  he 
would  not.  Nevertheless  the  suggestion  gave  her  much 
pleasure. 

"  We  must  see  about  that  later,"  said  Mrs.  Sutton,  and 
they  went  downstairs. 

"  I  must  say  good-bye  to  Beatrice.  Where  is  she  ?  " 
Anna  said  in  the  hall.  One  of  the  servants  directed  them 
to  the  dining-room.  The  Alderman  and  Henry  Mynors 
were  looking  together  at  a  large  photogravure  of  Sant's 
"  The  Soul's  Awakening,"  which  Mr.  Sutton  had  recently 
bought,  and  Beatrice  was  exhibiting  her  embroidery  to  a 
group  of  ladies:  sundry  stitchers  were  scattered  about,  in- 
cluding Miss  Dickinson. 

"  It  is  a  great  picture — a  picture  that  makes  you  think," 
Henry  was  saying  seriously,  and  the  Alderman,  feeling  as 
the  artist  might  have  felt,  was  obviously  flattered  by  this 
sagacious  praise. 

Anna  said  good-night  to  Miss  Dickinson  and  then  to 
Beatrice.  Mynors,  hearing  the  words,  turned  round. 
"  Well,  I  must  go.  Good-evening,"  he  said  suddenly  to  the 
astonished  Alderman. 


122  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  What?  Now?  "  the  latter  enquired,  scarcely  pleased 
to  find  that  Mynors  could  tear  himself  away  from  the  pic- 
ture with  so  little  difficulty. 

"  Yes." 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Mynors,"  said  Anna. 

"  If  I  may,  I  will  walk  down  with  you,"  Mynors  imper- 
turbaHy  answered. 

It  was  one  of  those  dramatic  moments  which  arrive  with- 
out the  slightest  warning.  The  gleam  of  joyous  satisfac- 
tion in  Miss  Dickinson's  eyes  showed  that  she  alone  had 
foreseen  this  declaration.  For  a  declaration  it  was,  and  a 
formal  declaration.  Mynors  stood  there  calm,  confident 
with  masculine  superiority,  and  his  glance  seemed  to  say 
to  those  swiftly  alert  women,  whose  faces  could  not  disguise 
a  thrilling  excitation :  "  Yes.  Let  all  know  that  I,  Henry 
Mynors,  the  desired  of  all,  am  honourably  captive  to  this 
shy  and  perfect  creature,  who  is  blushing  because  I  have 
said  what  I  have  said."  Even  the  Alderman  forgot  his 
photogravure.  Beatrice  hurriedly  resumed  her  explanation 
of  the  embroidery. 

"  How  did  you  like  the  sewing  meeting?  "  Mynors  asked 
Anna  when  they  were  on  the  pavement. 

Anna  paused.  "  I  think  Mrs.  Sutton  is  simply  a  splen- 
did woman,"  she  said  enthusiastically. 

When,  in  a  moment  too  far  short,  they  reached  Tell- 
wright's  house,  Mynors,  obeying  a  mutual  wish  to  which 
neither  had  given  expression,  followed  Anna  up  the  side 
entry,  and  so  into  the  yard,  where  they  lingered  for  a  few 
seconds.  Old  Tellwright  could  be  seen  at  the  extremity 


THE   SEWING   MEETING  123 

of  the  long  narrow  garden — a  garden  which  consisted  chiefly 
of  a  grass-plot  sown  with  clothes-props  and  a  narrow 
bordering  of  flower-beds  without  flowers.  Agnes  was 
invisible.  The  kitchen-door  stood  ajar,  and  as  this  was 
the  sole  means  of  ingress  from  the  yard,  Anna,  hum- 
ming an  air,  pushed  it  open  and  entered,  Mynors  in 
her  wake.  They  stood  on  the  threshold,  happy,  hesi- 
tating, confused,  and  looked  at  the  kitchen  as  at  some- 
thing they  had  not  seen  before.  Anna's  kitchen 
was  the  only  satisfactory  apartment  in  the  house.  Its 
furniture  included  a  dresser  of  the  simple  and  dignified 
kind  which  is  now  assiduously  collected  by  amateurs  of 
old  oak.  It  had  four  long  narrow  shelves  holding  plates 
and  saucers;  the  cups  were  hung  in  a  row  on  small  brass 
hooks  screwed  into  the  fronts  of  the  shelves.  Below  the 
shelves  were  three  drawers  in  a  line,  with  brass  handles,  and 
below  the  drawers  was  a  large  recess  which  held  stone  jars, 
a  copper  preserving-saucepan,  and  other  receptacles.  Sev- 
enty years  of  continuous  polishing  by  a  dynasty  of  priest- 
esses of  cleanliness  had  given  to  this  dresser  a  rich  ripe  tone 
which  the  cleverest  trade-trickster  could  not  have  imitated. 
In  it  was  reflected  the  conscientious  labour  of  generations. 
It  had  a  soft  and  assuaged  appearance,  as  though  it  had 
never  been  new  and  could  never  have  been  new.  All  its 
corners  and  edges  had  long  lost  the  asperities  of  manufac- 
ture, and  its  smooth  surfaces  were  marked  by  slight  hollows 
similar  in  spirit  to  those  worn  by  the  naked  feet  of  pilgrims 
into  the  marble  steps  of  a  shrine.  The  flat  portion  over 
the  drawers  was  scarred  with  hundreds  of  scratches,  and 


124  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

yet  even  all  these  seemed  to  be  incredibly  ancient,  and  in 
some  distant  past  to  have  partaken  of  the  mellowness  of 
the  whole.  The  dark  woodwork  formed  an  admirable 
background  for  the  crockery  on  the  shelves,  and  a  few  of 
the  old  plates,  hand-painted  according  to  some  vanished 
secret  in  pigments  which  time  could  only  improve,  had  the 
look  of  relationship  by  birth  to  the  dresser.  There  must 
still  be  thousands  of  exactly  similar  dressers  in  the  kitchens 
of  the  people,  but  they  are  gradually  being  transferred 
to  the  dining-rooms  of  curiosity -hunters.  To  Anna  this 
piece  of  furniture,  which  would  have  made  the  most  taci- 
turn collector  vocal  with  joy,  was  merely  "  the  dresser." 
She  had  always  lamented  that  it  contained  no  cupboard. 
In  front  of  the  fireless  range  was'an  old  steel  kitchen  fender 
with  heavy  fire-irons.  It  had  in  the  middle  of  its  flat  top 
a  circular  lodgment  for  saucepans,  but  on  this  polished 
disc  no  saucepan  was  ever  placed.  The  fender  was  perhaps 
as  old  as  the  dresser,  and  the  profound  depths  of  its  polish 
served  to  mitigate  somewhat  the  newness  of  the  patent  coal- 
economising  range  which  Tellwright  had  had  put  in  when 
he  took  the  house.  On  the  high  mantelpiece  were  four 
tall  brass  candlesticks  which,  like  the  dresser,  were  silently 
awaiting  their  apotheosis  at  the  hands  of  some  collector. 
Beside  these  were  two  or  three  common  mustard  tins,  pol- 
ished to  counterfeit  silver,  containing  spices ;  also  an  aban- 
doned coffee-mill  and  two  flat-irons.  A  grandfather's 
clock,  of  oak  to  match  the  dresser,  stood  to  the  left  of  the 
fireplace;  it  had  a  very  large  white  dial  with  a  grinning 
face  in  the  centre.  Though  it  would  only  run  for  twenty- 


THE   SEWING   MEETING  125 

four  hours,  its  leisured  movement  seemed  to  have  the  cer- 
tainty of  a  natural  law,  especially  to  Agnes,  for  Mr.  Tell- 
wright  never  forgot  to  wind  it  before  going  to  bed.  Under 
the  window  was  a  plain  deal  table,  with  white  top  and 
stained  legs.  Two  Windsor  chairs  completed  the  catalogue 
of  furniture.  The  glistening  floor  was  of  red  and  black 
tiles,  and  in  front  of  the  fender  lay  a  list  hearthrug,  made 
by  attaching  innumerable  bits  of  black  cloth  to  a  canvas 
base.  On  the  painted  walls  were  several  grocers'  almanacs, 
depicting  sailors  in  the  arms  of  lovers,  children  crossing 
brooks,  or  monks  swelling  themselves  with  Gargantuan 
repasts.  Everything  in  this  kitchen  was  absolutely  bright 
and  spotless,  as  clean  as  a  cat  in  pattens,  except  the  ceiling, 
darkened  by  fumes  of  gas.  Everything  was  in  perfect 
order,  and  had  the  humanised  air  of  use  and  occupation 
which  nothing  but  use  and  occupation  can  impart  to  sense- 
less objects.  It  was  a  kitchen  where,  in  the  housewife's 
phrase,  you  might  eat  off  the  floor,  and  to  any  Bursley 
matron  it  would  have  constituted  the  highest  possible  certifi- 
cate of  Anna's  character,  not  only  as  housewife,  but  as  elder 
sister — for  in  her  absence  Agnes  had  washed  the  tea-things 
and  put  them  away. 

"  This  is  the  nicest  room,  I  know,"  said  Mynors  at  length. 

"  Whatever  do  you  mean  ?  "  Anna  smiled,  incapable,  of 
course,  of  seeing  the  place  with  his  eye. 

"  I  mean  there  is  nothing  to  beat  a  clean  straight 
kitchen,"  Mynors  replied,  "  and  there  never  will  be.  It 
wants  only  the  mistress  in  a  white  apron  to  make  it  com- 
plete. Do  you  know,  when  I  came  in  here  the  other  night, 


126  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

and  you  were  sitting  at  the  table  there,  I  thought  the  place 
was  like  a  picture." 

"  How  funny ! "  said  Anna,  puzzled  but  well  satisfied. 
"  But  won't  you  come  into  the  parlour  ?  " 

The  Persian  with  one  ear  met  them  in  the  lobby,  his  tail 
flying,  but  cautiously  sidled  upstairs  at  sight  of  Mynors. 
When  Anna  opened  the  door  of  the  parlour  she  saw  Agnes 
seated  at  the  table  over  her  lessons,  frowning  and  preoccu- 
pied. Tears  were  in  her  eyes. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  Agnes  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"Oh!  Go  away,"  said  the  child  crossly.  "Don't 
bother." 

"  But  what's  the  matter?     You're  crying." 

"  No,  I'm  not.  I'm  doing  my  sums,  and  I  can't  get  it — 
can't "  The  child  burst  into  tears  just  as  Mynors  en- 
tered. His  presence  was  a  complete  surprise  to  her.  She 
hid  her  face  in  her  pinafore,  ashamed  to  be  thus  caught. 

"  Where  is  it  ?  "  said  Mynors.  "  Where  is  this  sum  that 
won't  come  right?  "  He  picked  up  the  slate  and  examined 
it  while  Agnes  was  finding  herself  again.  "  Practice ! " 
he  exclaimed.  "  Has  Agnes  got  as  far  as  practice  ?  "  She 
gave  him  an  instant's  glance  and  murmured  "  Yes."  Be- 
fore she  could  shelter  her  face  he  had  kissed  her.  Anna 
was  enchanted  by  his  manner,  and  as  for  Agnes,  she  sur- 
rendered happily  to  him  at  once.  He  worked  the  sum,  and 
she  copied  the  figures  into  her  exercise-book.  Anna  sat  and 
watched. 

"  Now  I  must  go,"  said  Mynors. 

"  But  surely  you'll  stay  and  see  father,"  Anna  urged. 


THE   SEWING  MEETING  127 

"  No.  I  really  had  not  meant  to  call.  Good-night, 
Agnes."  In  a  moment  he  was  gone  out  of  the  room  and 
the  house.  It  was  as  if,  in  obedience  to  a  sudden  impulse, 
he  had  forcibly  torn  himself  away. 

"  Was  he  at  the  sewing  meeting?  "  Agnes  asked,  adding 
in  parenthesis,  "  I  never  dreamt  he  was  here,  and  I  was 
frightfully  vexed.  I  felt  such  a  baby." 

"  Yes.     At  least,  he  came  for  tea." 

"  Why  did  he  call  here  like  that?  " 

"How  can  I  tell?"  Anna  said.  The  child  looked  at 
her. 

"It's  awfully  queer,  isn't  it?"  she  said  slowly.  "Tell 
me  all  about  the  sewing  meeting.  Did  they  have  cakes  or 
was  it  a  plain  tea  ?  And  did  you  go  into  Beatrice  Button's 
bedroom?  " 


VIII:  ON   THE  BANK 

A<JNA  began  to  receive  her  July  interest  and  dividends. 
During  a  fortnight  remittances,  varying  from  a  few 
pounds  to  a  few  hundreds  of  pounds,  arrived  by 
post  almost  daily.  They  were  all  addressed  to  her, 
since  the  securities  now  stood  in  her  own  name;  and  upon 
her,  under  the  miser's  superintendence,  fell  the  new  task 
of  entering  them  in  a  book  and  paying  them  into  the  Bank. 
This  mysterious  begetting  of  money  by  money — a  strange 
process  continually  going  forward  for  her  benefit,  in 
various  parts  of  the  world,  far  and  near,  by  means  of  ac- 
tivities of  which  she  was  completely  ignorant  and  would 
always  be  completely  ignorant — bewildered  her  and  gave 
her  a  feeling  of  its  unreality.  The  elaborate  mechanism 
by  which  capital  yields  interest  without  suffering  diminu- 
tion from  its  original  bulk  is  one  of  the  commonest  phe- 
nomena of  modern  life,  and  one  of  the  least  understood. 
Many  capitalists  never  grasp  it,  nor  experience  the  slightest 
curiosity  about  it  until  the  mechanism  through  some  defect 
ceases  to  revolve.  Tellwright  was  of  these;  for  him  the 
interval  between  the  outlay  of  capital  and  the  receipt  of 
interest  was  nothing  but  an  efflux  of  time :  he  planted  capital 
as  a  gardener  plants  rhubarb,  tolerably  certain  of  a  particu- 
lar result,  but  not  dwelling  even  in  thought  on  that  which  is 
hidden.  The  productivity  of  capital  was  to  him  the  great- 
est achievement  of  social  progress — indeed,  the  social 

128 


ON  THE  BANK  129 

organism  justified  its  existence  by  that  achievement;  noth- 
ing could  be  more  equitable  than  this  productivity,  nothing 
more  natural.  He  would  as  soon  have  enquired  into  it  as 
Agnes  would  have  enquired  into  the  ticking  of  the  grand- 
father's clock.  But  to  Anna,  who  had  some  imagination, 
and  whose  imagination  had  been  stirred  by  recent  events, 
the  arrivals  of  moneys  out  of  space,  unearned,  unasked, 
was  a  disturbing  experience,  affecting  her  as  a  conjuring 
trick  affects  a  child,  whose  sensations  hesitate  between 
pleasure  and  apprehension.  Practically,  Anna  could  not 
believe  that  she  was  rich;  and  in  fact  she  was  not  rich — 
she  was  merely  a  fixed  point  through  which  moneys  that  she 
was  unable  to  arrest  passed  with  the  rapidity  of  trains. 
If  money  is  a  token,  Anna  was  denied  the  satisfaction  of 
fingering  even  the  token :  drafts  and  cheques  were  all  that 
she  touched  (touched  only  to  abandon) — the  doubly  tan- 
talising and  insubstantial  tokens  of  a  token.  She  wanted 
to  test  the  actuality  of  this  apparent  dream  by  handling 
coin  and  causing  it  to  vanish  over  counters  and  into  the 
palms  of  the  necessitous.  And  moreover,  quite  apart  from 
this  curiosity,  she  really  needed  money  for  pressing  require- 
ments of  Agnes  and  herself.  They  had  yet  had  no  new 
summer  clothes,  and  Whitsuntide,  the  time  prescribed  by 
custom  for  the  refurnishing  of  wardrobes,  was  long  since 
past.  The  intercourse  with  Henry  Mynors,  the  visit  to  the 
Suttons,  had  revealed  to  her  more  plainly  than  ever  the  in- 
tolerable shortcomings  of  her  wardrobe,  and  similar  imper- 
fections. She  was  more  painfully  awake  to  these,  and  yet, 
by  an  unhappy  paradox,  she  was  even  less  in  a  position  to 


130  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

remedy  them  than  in  previous  years.  For  now,  she  pos- 
sessed her  own  fortune;  to  ask  her  father's  bounty  was 
therefore,  she  divined,  a  surg  way  of  inviting  a  rebuff. 
But,  even  if  she  had  dared,  she  might  not  use  the  income 
that  was  privately  hers,  for  was  not  every  penny  of  it 
already  allocated  to  the  partnership  with  Mynors?  So  it 
happened  that  she  never  once  mentioned  the  matter  to  her 
father;  she  lacked  the  courage,  since  by  whatever  avenue 
she  approached  it  circumstances  would  add  an  illogical  and 
adventitious  force  to  the  brutal  snubs  which  he  invariably 
dealt  out  when  petitioned  for  money.  To  demand  his 
money,  having  fifty  thousand  of  her  own !  To  spend  her 
own  in  the  face  of  that  agreement  with  Mynors !  She 
could  too  easily  guess  his  bitter  and  humiliating  retorts  to 
either  proposition,  and  she  kept  silence,  comforting  herself 
with  timid  visions  of  a  far  distant  future.  The  balance 
at  the  bank  crept  up  to  sixteen  hundred  pounds.  The 
deed  of  partnership  was  drawn;  her  father  pored  over  the 
blue  draft,  and  several  times  Mynors  called  and  the  two 
men  discussed  it  together.  Then  one  morning  her  father 
summoned  her  into  the  front  parlour,  and  handed  to  her 
a  piece  of  parchment  on  which  she  dimly  deciphered  her 
own  name  coupled  with  that  of  Henry  Mynors,  in  large 
letters. 

"  You  mun  sign,  seal,  and  deliver  this,"  he  said,  putting 
a  pen  in  her  hand. 

She  sat  down  obediently  to  write,  but  he  stopped  her  with 
a  scornful  gesture. 

"  Thou'lt  sign  blind  then,  eh  ?     Just  like  a  woman !  " 


ON   THE  BANK  131 

"  I  left  it  to  you,"  she  said. 

"  Left  it  to  me !     Read  it." 

She  read  through  the  deed,  and  after  she  had  accom- 
plished the  feat  one  fact  only  stood  clear  in  her  mind,  that 
the  partnership  was  for  seven  years,  a  period  extensible  by 
consent  of  both  parties  to  fourteen  or  twenty-one  years. 
Then  she  affixed  her  signature,  the  pen  moving  awkwardly 
over  the  rough  surface  of  the  parchment. 

"  Now  put  thy  finger  on  that  bit  'o  wax,  and  say :  '  I 
deliver  this  as  my  act  and  deed.' ' 

"  I  deliver  this  as  my  act  and  deed." 

The  old  man  signed  as  witness.  "  Soon  as  I  give  this 
to  Lawyer  Dane,"  he  remarked,  "  thou'rt  bound,  willy- 
nilly.  Law's  law,  and  thou'rt  bound." 

On  the  following  day  she  had  to  sign  a  cheque  which 
reduced  her  bank-balance  to  about  three  pounds.  Perhaps 
it  was  the  knowledge  of  this  reduction  that  led  Ephraim 
Tellwright  to  resume  at  once  and  with  fresh  rigour  his 
new  policy  of  "  squeezing  the  last  penny  "  out  of  Titus 
Price  (despite  the  fact  that  the  latter  had  already  achieved 
the  incredible  by  paying  thirty  pounds  in  little  more  than 
a  month),  thus  causing  the  catastrophe  which  soon  after- 
wards befell.  What  methods  her  father  was  adopting  Anna 
did  not  know,  since  he  said  no  word  to  her  about  the  matter : 
she  only  knew  that  Agnes  had  twice  been  dispatched  with 
notes  to  Edward  Street.  One  day,  about  noon,  a  clay-soiled 
urchin  brought  a  letter  addressed  to  herself;  she  guessed 
that  it  was  some  appeal  for  mercy  from  the  Prices,  and 
wished  that  her  father  had  been  at  home.  The  old  man 


132  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

was  away  for  the  whole  day,  attending  a  sale  of  property  at 
Axe,  the  agricultural  town  in  the  north  of  the  county,  lo- 
cally styled  "  the  metropolis  of  the  moorlands."  Anna 
read :  "  My  dear  Miss  Tellwright, — Now  that  our  partner- 
ship is  an  accomplished  fact,  will  you  not  come  and  look 
over  the  works?  I  should  much  like  you  to  do  so.  I  shall 
be  passing  your  house  this  afternoon  about  two,  and  will 
call  on  the  chance  of  being  able  to  take  you  down  with  me 
to  the  works.  If  you  are  unable  to  come  no  harm  will  be 
done,  and  some  other  day  can  be  arranged;  but  of  course 
I  shall  be  disappointed. — Believe  me,  yours  most  sincerely, 
HY.  MYNORS." 

She  was  charmed  with  the  idea — to  her  so  audacious — and 
relieved  that  the  note  was  not  after  all  from  Titus  or  Willie 
Price:  but  again  she  had  to  regret  that  her  father  was  not 
at  home.  He  would  be  capable  of  thinking  and  saying  that 
the  projected  expedition  was  a  truancy,  contrived  to  occur 
in  his  absence.  He  might  grumble  at  the  house  being  left 
without  a  keeper.  Moreover,  according  to  a  tacit  law,  she 
never  departed  from  the  fixed  routine  of  her  existence  with- 
out first  obtaining  Ephraim's  approval,  or  at  least  being 
sure  that  such  a  departure  would  not  make  him  violently 
angry.  She  wondered  whether  Mynors  knew  that  her 
father  was  away,  and,  if  so,  whether  he  had  chosen  that 
afternoon  purposely.  She  did  not  care  that  Mynors  should 
call  for  her — it  made  the  visit  seem  so  formal;  and  as  in 
order  to  reach  the  works,  down  at  Shawport,  by  the  canal- 
side,  they  would  necessarily  go  through  the  middle  of  the 
town,  she  foresaw  infinite  gossip  and  rumour  as  one  result. 


ON   THE  BANK  133 

Already,  she  knew,  the  names  of  herself  and  Mynors  were 
everywhere  coupled,  and  she  could  not  even  enter  a  shop 
without  being  made  aware,  more  or  less  delicately,  that  she 
was  an  object  of  piquant  curiosity.  A  woman  is  pro- 
foundly interesting  to  women  at  two  periods  only — before 
she  is  betrothed  and  before  she  becomes  the  mother  of  her 
firstborn.  Anna  was  in  the  first  period;  her  life  did  not 
comprise  the  second. 

When  Agnes  came  home  to  dinner  from  school,  Anna  said 
nothing  of  Mynors'  note  until  they  had  begun  to  wash  up 
the  dinner-things,  when  she  suggested  that  Agnes  should 
finish  this  operation  alone. 

"  Yes,"  said  Agnes,  ever  compliant.     "  But  why?  " 

"  I'm  going  out,  and  I  must  get  ready." 

"  Going  out  ?  And  shall  you  leave  the  house  all  empty  ? 
What  will  father  say  ?  Where  are  you  going  to  ?  " 

Agnes's  tendency  to  anticipate  the  worst,  and  never  to 
blink  their  father's  tyranny,  always  annoyed  Anna,  and  she 
answered  rather  curtly :  "  I'm  going  to  the  works — Mr. 
Mynors'  works.  He's  sent  word  he  wants  me  to."  She 
despised  herself  for  wishing  to  hide  anything,  and  added, 
"  He  will  call  here  for  me  about  two  o'clock." 

"  Mr.  Mynors !  How  splendid ! "  And  then  Agnes's 
face  fell  somewhat.  "  I  suppose  he  won't  call  before  two? 
If  he  doesn't  I  shall  be  gone  to  school." 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  I  don't  want  to  see  him.  But — I  sup- 
pose you'll  be  out  a  long  time,  and  he'll  bring  you 
back." 


134  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Of  course  he  won't,  you  silly  girl.  And  I  shan't  be  out 
long.  I  shall  be  back  for  tea." 

Anna  ran  upstairs  to  dress.  At  ten  minutes  to  two  she 
was  ready.  Agnes  usually  left  at  a  quarter  to  two,  but 
the  child  had  not  yet  gone.  At  fire  minutes  to  two,  Anna 
called  downstairs  to  her  to  ask  her  when  she  meant  to  de- 
part. 

"  I'm  just  going  now,"  Agnes  shouted  back.  She  opened 
the  front  door  and  then  returned  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
"  Anna,  if  I  meet  him  down  the  road,  shall  I  tell  him  you're 
ready  waiting  for  him?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  Whatever  are  you  dreaming  of?  "  the 
elder  sister  reproved.  "  Besides,  he  isn't  coming  from  the 
town." 

"Oh!  All  right.  Good-bye."  And  the  child  at  last 
went. 

It  was  something  after  two — every  siren  and  hooter  had 
long  since  finished  the  summons  to  work — when  Mynors  rang 
the  bell.  Anna  was  still  upstairs.  She  examined  herself 
in  the  glass,  and  then  descended  slowly. 

"  Good-afternoon,"  he  said.  "  I  see  you  are  ready  to 
come.  I'm  very  glad.  I  hope  I  haven't  inconvenienced 
you,  but  just  this  afternoon  seemed  to  be  a  good  opportunity 
for  you  to  see  the  works,  and  you  know  you  ought  to  see  it. 
Father  in?" 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  leave  the  house  to  take  care 
of  itself.  Do  you  want  to  see  him?  " 

"  Not  specially,"  he  replied.  "  I  think  we  have  settled 
everything." 


ON   THE  BANK  135 

She  banged  the  door  behind  her,  and  they  started.  As 
he  held  open  the  gate  for  her  exit,  she  could  not  ignore  the 
look  of  passionate  admiration  on  his  face.  It  was  a  look 
disconcerting  by  its  mere  intensity.  The  man  could  con- 
trol his  tongue,  but  not  his  eyes.  His  demeanour,  as  she 
viewed  it,  aggravated  her  self -consciousness  as  they  braved 
the  streets.  But  she  was  happy  in  her  perturbation.  When 
they  reached  Duck  Bank  Mynors  asked  her  whether  they 
should  go  through  the  market-place  or  along  King  Street, 
by  the  bottom  of  St.  Luke's  Square.  "  By  the  market- 
place," she  said.  The  shop  where  Miss  Dickinson  was  em- 
ployed was  at  the  bottom  of  St.  Luke's  Square,  and  all  the 
eyes  of  the  market-place  were  preferable  to  the  chance  of 
those  eyes. 

Probably  no  one  in  the  Five  Towns  takes  a  conscious  pride 
in  the  antiquity  of  the  potter's  craft,  nor  in  its  unique  and 
intimate  relation  to  human  life,  alike  civilised  and  uncivil- 
ised. Man  hardened  clay  into  a  bowl  before  he  spun  flax 
and  made  a  garment,  and  the  last  lone  man  will  want  an 
earthen  vessel  after  he  has  abandoned  his  ruined  house  for  a 
cave,  and  his  woven  rags  for  an  animal's  skin.  This  su- 
premacy of  the  most  ancient  of  crafts  is  in  the  secret  nature 
of  things,  and  cannot  be  explained.  History  begins  long 
after  the  period  when  Bursley  was  first  the  central  seat  of 
that  honoured  manufacture:  it  is  the  central  seat  still — 
"  the  mother  of  the  Five  Towns,"  in  our  local  phrase — and 
though  the  townsmen,  absorbed  in  a  strenuous  daily  strug- 
gle, may  forget  their  heirship  to  an  unbroken  tradition  of 


136  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

countless  centuries,  the  seal  of  their  venerable  calling  is  upon 
their  foreheads.  If  no  other  relic  of  an  immemorial  past 
is  to  be  seen  in  these  modernised  sordid  streets,  there  is  at 
least  the  living  legacy  of  that  extraordinary  kinship  between 
workman  and  work,  that  instinctive  mastery  of  clay,  which 
the  past  has  bestowed  upon  the  present.  The  horse  is  less 
to  the  Arab  than  clay  is  to  the  Bursley  man.  He  exists  in 
it  and  by  it ;  it  fills  his  lungs  and  blanches  his  cheek ;  it  keeps 
him  alive  and  it  kills  him.  His  fingers  close  round  it  as 
round  the  hand  of  a  friend.  He  knows  all  its  tricks  and 
latitudes ;  when  to  coax  and  when  to  force  it,  when  to  rely 
an  it  and  when  to  distrust  it.  The  weavers  of  Lancashire 
tiftve  dubbed  him  with  an  obscene  epithet  on  account  of  it, 
jm  epithet  whose  hasty  use  has  led  to  many  a  fight,  but 
nothing  could  be  more  illuminatively  descriptive  than  that 
epithet,  which  names  his  vocation  in  terms  of  another  voca- 
tion. A  dozen  decades  of  applied  science  have  of  course  re- 
sulted in  the  interposition  of  elaborate  machinery  between 
the  clay  and  the  man ;  but  no  great  vulgar  handicraft  has 
lost  less  of  the  human  than  potting.  Clay  is  always  clay, 
and  the  steam-driven  contrivance  that  will  mould  a  basin 
while  a  man  sits  and  watches  has  yet  to  be  invented.  More- 
over, if  in  some  coarser  process  the  hands  are  superseded, 
the  number  of  processes  has  been  multiplied  tenfold:  the 
ware  in  which  six  men  formerly  collaborated  is  now  pro- 
duced by  sixty ;  and  thtis,  in  one  sense,  the  touch  of  finger 
on  clay  is  more  pervasive  than  ever  before. 

Mynors*  works  was  acknowledged  to  be  one  of  the  best, 
of  its  sizej  in  the  district — a  model  three-oven  bank,  and  it 


ON   THE  BANK  137 

must  be  remembered  that  of  the  hundreds  of  banks  in  the 
Five  Towns  the  vast  majority  are  small,  like  this:  the  large 
manufactory  with  its  corps  of  jacket-men,*  one  of  whom  is 
detached  to  show  visitors  round  so  much  of  the  works  as  it 
is  deemed  advisable  for  them  to  see,  is  the  exception.  My- 
nors  paid  three  hundred  pounds  a  year  in  rent,  and  pro- 
duced nearly  three  hundred  pounds'  worth  of  work  a  week. 
He  was  his  own  manager,  and  there  was  only  one  jacket- 
man  on  the  place,  a  clerk  at  eighteen  shillings.  He  em- 
ployed about  a  hundred  hands,  and  devoted  all  his  ingenu- 
ity to  prevent  that  wastage  which  is  at  once  the  easiest  to 
overlook  and  the  most  difficult  to  check,  the  wastage  of 
labour.  No  pains  were  spared  to  keep  all  departments  in 
full  and  regular  activity,  and  owing  to  his  judicious  firm- 
ness the  feast  of  St.  Monday,  that  canker  eternally  eating 
at  the  root  of  the  prosperity  of  the  Five  Towns,  was  less 
religiously  observed  on  his  bank  than  perhaps  anywhere  else 
in  Bursley.  He  had  realised  that  when  a  workshop  stands 
empty  the  employer  has  not  only  ceased  to  make  money,  but 
has  begun  to  lose  it.  The  architect  of  "  Providence  Works  " 
(Providence  stands  godfather  to  many  commercial  enter- 
prises in  the  Five  Towns)  knew  his  business  and  the  busi- 
ness of  the  potter,  and  he  had  designed  the  works  with  a  view 
to  the  strictest  economy  of  labour.  The  various  shops  were 
so  arranged  that  in  the  course  of  its  metamorphosis  the  clay 
travelled  naturally  in  a  circle  from  the  slip-house  by  the 

*  Jacket-man:  the  artisan's  satiric  term  for  anyone  who  does  not  work 
in  shirtsleeves,  who  is  not  actually  a  producer,  such  as  a  clerk  or  a 
pretentious  foreman. 


138  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

canal  to  the  packing-house  by  the  canal :  there  was  no  carry- 
ing to  and  fro.  The  steam  installation  was  complete :  steam 
once  generated  had  no  respite;  after  it  had  exhausted  it- 
self in  vitalising  fifty  machines,  it  was  killed  by  inches  in 
order  to  dry  the  unfired  ware  and  warm  the  dinners  of  the 
workpeople. 

Henry  took  Anna  to  the  canal-entrance,  because  the  build- 
ings looked  best  from  that  side. 

"  Now  how  much  is  a  crate  worth?  "  she  asked,  pointing 
to  a  crate  which  was  being  swung  on  a  crane  direct  from  the 
packing-house  into  a  boat. 

"  That?  "  Mynors  answered.  "  A  crateful  of  ware  may  be 
worth  anything.  At  Minton's  I  have  seen  a  crate  worth 
three  hundred  pounds.  But  that  one  there  is  only  worth 
eight  or  nine  pounds.  You  see  you  and  I  make  cheap 
stuff." 

"  But  don't  you  make  any  really  good  pots — are  they 
all  cheap  ?  " 

"  All  cheap,"  he  said. 

"  I  suppose  that's  business  ?  "  He  detected  a  note  of  re- 
gret in  her  voice. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  with  the  slightest  impatient 
warmth.  "  We  make  the  stuff  as  good  as  we  can  for  the 
money.  We  supply  what  everyone  wants.  Don't  you  think 
it's  better  to  please  a  thousand  folks  than  to  please  ten? 
I  like  to  feel  that  my  ware  is  used  all  over  the  country  and 
the  colonies.  I  would  sooner  do  as  I  do  than  make  swagger 
ware  for  a  handful  of  rich  people." 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  she  exclaimed,  eagerly  accepting  the  point  of 


ON   THE  BANK  139 

view,  "  I  quite  agree  with  you."  She  had  never  heard  him  in 
that  vein  before,  and  was  struck  by  his  enthusiasm.  And 
Mynors  was  in  fact  always  very  enthusiastic  concerning  the 
virtues  of  the  general  markets.  He  had  no  sympathy  with 
specialities,  artistic  or  otherwise.  He  found  his  satisfac- 
tion in  honestly  meeting  the  popular  taste.  He  was  born  to 
be  a  manufacturer  of  cheap  goods  on  a  colossal  scale.  He 
could  dream  of  fifty  ovens,  and  his  ambition  blinded  him  to 
the  present  absurdity  of  talking  about  a  three-oven  bank 
spreading  its  productions  all  over  the  country  and  the  col- 
onies ;  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that  there  were  yet  scarcely 
enough  plates  to  go  round. 

"  I  suppose  we  had  better  start  at  the  start,"  he  said, 
leading  the  way  to  the  slip-house.  He  did  not  need  to  be 
told  that  Anna  was  perfectly  ignorant  of  the  craft  of  pot- 
tery, and  that  every  detail  of  it,  so  stale  to  him,  would  ac- 
quire freshness  under  her  naive  and  enquiring  gaze. 

In  the  slip-house  begins  the  long  manipulation  which 
transforms  raw  porous  friable  clay  into  the  moulded,  deco- 
rated, and  glazed  vessel.  The  large  whitewashed  place  was 
occupied  by  ungainly  machines  and  receptacles  through 
which  the  four  sorts  of  clay  used  in  a  common  "  body  " — 
ball  clay,  China  clay,  flint  clay,  and  stone  clay — were  com- 
pelled to  pass  before  they  became  a  white  putty-like  mix- 
ture meet  for  shaping  by  human  hands.  The  blunger 
crushed  the  clay,  the  sifter  extracted  the  iron  from  it  by 
means  of  a  magnet,  the  press  expelled  the  water,  and  the 
pug-mill  expelled  the  air.  From  the  last  reluctant  mouth 
slowly  emerged  a  solid  stream  nearly  a  foot  in  diameter, 


140  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

like  a  huge  white  snake.  Already  the  clay  had  acquired 
the  uniformity  characteristic  of  a  manufactured  product. 

Anna  moved  to  touch  the  bolts  of  the  enormous  twenty- 
four-chambered  press. 

"  Don't  stand  there,"  said  Mynors.  "  The  pressure  is 
tremendous,  and  if  the  thing  were  to  burst " 

She  fled  hastily.  "  But  isn't  it  dangerous  for  the  work- 
men ?  "  she  asked. 

Eli  Machin,  the  engineman,  the  oldest  employee  on  the 
works,  a  moneyed  man  and  the  pattern  of  reliability,  al- 
lowed a  vague  smile  to  flit  across  his  face  at  this  remark. 
He  had  ascended  from  the  engine-house  below  in  order  to 
exhibit  the  tricks  of  the  various  machines,  and  that  done  he 
disappeared.  Anna  was  awed  by  the  sensation  of  being 
surrounded  by  terrific  forces  always  straining  for  release 
and  held  in  check  by  the  power  of  a  single  will. 

"  Come  and  see  a  plate  made :  that  is  one  of  the  simplest 
things,  and  the  batting-machine  is  worth  looking  at,"  said 
Mynors,  and  they  went  into  the  nearest  shop,  a  hot  interior 
in  the  shape  of  four  corridors  round  a  solid  square  middle. 
Here  men  and  women  were  working  side  by  side,  the  women 
subordinate  to  the  men.  All  were  preoccupied,  wrapped  up 
in  their  respective  operations,  and  there  was  the  sound  of 
irregular  whirring  movements  from  every  part  of  the  big 
room.  The  air  was  laden  with  a  whitish  dust,  and  clay  was 
omnipresent — on  the  floor,  the  walls,  the  benches,  the  win- 
dows, on  clothes,  hands,  and  faces.  It  was  in  this  shop, 
where  both  hollowware  pressers  and  flat  pressers  were  busy 
as  only  craftsmen  on  piecework  can  be  busy,  that  more  than 


ON   THE   BANK  141 

anywhere  else  clay  was  to  be  seen  "  in  the  hand  of  the  pot- 
ter." Near  the  door  a  stout  man  with  a  good-humoured 
face  flung  some  clay  on  to  a  revolving  disc,  and  even  as 
Anna  passed  a  jar  sprang  into  existence.  One  instant  the 
clay  was  an  amorphous  mass,  the  next  it  was  a  vessel  per- 
fectly circular,  of  a  prescribed  width  and  a  prescribed 
depth ;  the  fat  and  apparently  clumsy  fingers  of  the  crafts- 
man had  seemed  to  lose  themselves  in  the  clay  for  a  frac- 
tion of  time,  and  the  miracle  was  accomplished.  The  man 
threw  these  vessels  with  the  rapidity  of  a  Roman  candle 
throwing  off  coloured  stars,  and  one  woman  was  kept  busy 
in  supplying  him  with  material  and  relieving  his  bench  of 
the  finished  articles.  Mynors  drew  Anna  along  to  the  bat- 
ting-machines for  plate-makers,  at  that  period  rather  a  nov- 
elty and  the  latest  invention  of  the  dead  genius  whose  brain 
has  reconstituted  a  whole  industry  on  new  lines.  Confronted 
with  a  piece  of  clay,  the  batting-machine  descended  upon  it 
with  the  ferocity  of  a  wild  animal,  worried  it,  stretched  it, 
smoothed  it  into  the  width  and  thickness  of  a  plate,  and  then 
desisted  of  itself  and  waited  inactive  for  the  flat  presser  to 
remove  its  victim  to  his  more  exact  shaping  machine.  Sev- 
eral men  were  producing  plates,  but  their  rapid  labours 
seemed  less  astonishing  than  the  preliminary  feat  of  the 
batting-machine.  All  the  ware,  as  it  was  moulded,  disap- 
peared into  the  vast  cupboards  occupying  the  centre  of  the 
shop,  where  Mynors  showed  Anna  innumerable  rows  of 
shelves  full  of  pots  in  process  of  steam-drying.  Neither 
time  nor  space  nor  material  was  wasted  in  this  ant-heap  of 
industry.  In  order  to  move  to  and  fro,  the  women  were 


142  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

compelled  to  insinuate  themselves  past  the  stationary  bodies 
of  the  men.  Anna  marvelled  at  the  careless  accuracy  with 
which  they  fed  the  batting-machines  with  lumps  precisely 
calculated  to  form  a  plate  of  a  given  diameter.  Everyone 
exerted  himself  as  though  the  salvation  of  the  world  hung 
on  the  production  of  so  much  stuff  by  a  certain  hour ;  dust, 
heat,  and  the  presence  of  a  stranger  were  alike  unheeded  in 
the  mad  creative  passion. 

"  Now,"  said  Mynors  the  cicerone,  opening  another  door 
which  gave  into  the  yard,  "  when  all  that  stuff  is  dried  and 
fettled — smoothed,  you  know — it  goes  into  the  biscuit  oven : 
that's  the  first  firing.  There's  the  biscuit  oven,  but  we  can't 
inspect  it  because  it's  just  being  drawn." 

He  pointed  to  the  oven  near  by,  in  whose  dark  interior 
the  forms  of  men,  naked  to  the  waist,  could  dimly  be  seen 
struggling  with  the  weight  of  saggars*  full  of  ware.  It 
seemed  like  some  release  of  martyrs,  this  unpacking  of  the 
immense  oven,  which,  after  being  flooded  with  a  sea  of  flame 
for  fifty-four  hours,  had  cooled  for  two  days,  and  was  yet 
hotter  than  the  Equator.  The  inertness  and  pallor  of  the 
saggars  seemed  to  be  the  physical  result  of  their  fiery  trial, 
and  one  wondered  that  they  should  have  survived  the  trial. 
Mynors  went  into  the  place  adjoining  the  oven  and  brought 
back  a  plate  out  of  an  open  saggar ;  it  was  still  quite  warm. 
It  had  the  matt  surface  of  a  biscuit,  and  adhered  slightly  to 
the  fingers :  it  was  now  a  "  crook  " ;  it  had  exchanged  mal- 
leability for  brittleness,  and  nothing  mortal  could  undo  what 

*  Saggars:  large  oval  receptacles  of  coarse  clay,  in  which  the  ware  is 
placed  for  tiring. 


ON   THE  BANK  143 

the  fire  had  done.  Mynors  took  the  plate  with  him  to  the 
biscuit-warehouse,  a  long  room  where  one  was  forced  to 
keep  to  narrow  alleys  amid  parterres  of  pots.  A  solitary 
biscuit-warehouseman  was  examining  the  ware,  in  order  to 
determine  the  remuneration  of  the  pressers. 

They  climbed  a  flight  of  stairs  to  the  printing-shop, 
where,  by  means  of  copperplates,  printing-presses,  mineral 
colours,  and  transfer-papers,  most  of  the  decoration  was 
done.  The  room  was  filled  by  a  little  crowd  of  people — 
oldish  men,  women,  and  girls,  divided  into  printers,  cutters, 
trans ferrers,  and  apprentices.  Each  interminably  repeated 
some  trifling  process,  and  every  article  passed  through  a 
succession  of  hands  until  at  length  it  was  washed  in  a  tank 
and  rose  dripping  therefrom  with  its  ornament  of  flowers 
and  scrolls  fully  revealed.  The  room  smelt  of  oil  and  flannel 
and  humanity ;  the  atmosphere  was  more  languid,  more  like 
that  of  a  family  party,  than  in  the  pressers'  shop:  the  old 
women  looked  stern  and  shrewish,  the  pretty  young  women 
pert  and  defiant,  the  younger  girls  meek.  The  few  men 
seemed  out  of  place.  By  what  trick  had  they  crept  into  the 
very  centre  of  that  mass  of  femineity?  It  seemed  wrong, 
scandalous  that  they  should  remain.  Contiguous  with  the 
printing-shop  was  the  painting-shop,  in  which  the  labours 
of  the  former  were  taken  to  a  finish  by  the  brush  of  the 
paintress,  who  filled  in  outlines  with  flat  colour,  and  thus 
converted  mechanical  printing  into  handiwork.  The  paint- 
resses  form  the  noblesse  of  the  banks.  Their  task  is  a  light 
one,  demanding  deftness  first  of  all;  they  have  delicate  fin- 
gers, and  enjoy  a  general  reputation  for  beauty:  the  wages 


144  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

they  earn  may  be  estimated  from  their  finery  on  Sundays. 
They  come  to  business  in  cloth  jackets,  carrying  dinner  in 
little  satchels ;  in  the  shop  they  wear  white  aprons,  and  look 
startlingly  neat  and  tidy.  Across  the  benches  over  which 
they  bend  their  coquettish  heads  gossip  flies  and  returns 
like  a  shuttle;  they  are  the  source  of  a  thousand  intrigues, 
and  one  or  other  of  them  is  continually  getting  married  or 
omitting  to  get  married.  On  the  bank  they  constitute  "  the 
sex."  An  infinitesimal  proportion  of  them,  from  among  the 
branch  known  as  ground-layers,  die  of  lead-poisoning — a 
fact  which  adds  pathos  to  their  frivolous  charm.  In  a  sub- 
sidiary room  off  the  painting-shop  a  single  girl  was  seated 
at  a  revolving  table  actuated  by  a  treadle.  She  was  doing 
the  "  band-and-line  "  on  the  rims  of  saucers.  Mynors  and 
Anna  watched  her  as  with  her  left  hand  she  flicked  saucer 
after  saucer  into  the  exact  centre  of  the  table,  moved  the 
treadle,  and,  holding  a  brush  firmly  against  the  rim  of  the 
piece,  produced  with  infallible  exactitude  the  band  and  the 
line.  She  was  a  brunette,  about  twenty-eight:  she  had  a 
calm,  vacuously  contemplative  face;  but  God  alone  knew 
whether  she  thought.  Her  work  represented  the  summit  of 
monotony ;  the  regularity  of  it  hypnotised  the  observer,  and 
Mynors  himself  was  impressed  by  this  stupendous  phe- 
nomenon of  absolute  sameness,  involuntarily  assuming 
towards  it  the  attitude  of  a  showman. 

"  She  earns  as  much  as  eighteen  shillings  a  week  some- 
times," he  whispered. 

"  May  I  try  ?  "  Anna  timidly  asked  of  a  sudden,  curiou* 
to  experience  what  the  trick  was  like. 


ON   THE   BANK  145 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mynors,  in  eager  assent.  "  Priscilla, 
let  this  lady  have  your  seat  a  moment,  please." 

The  girl  got  up,  smiling  politely.    Anna  took  her  place. 

"  Here,  try  on  this,"  said  Mynors,  putting  on  the  table 
the  plate  which  he  still  carried. 

"  Take  a  full  brush,"  the  paintress  suggested,  not  at- 
tempting to  hide  her  amusement  at  Anna's  unaccustomed 
efforts.  "  Now  push  the  treadle.  There !  It  isn't  in  the 
middle  yet.  Now !  " 

Anna  produced  a  most  creditable  band,  and  a  trembling 
but  passable  line,  and  rose,  flushed  with  the  small  triumph. 

"  You  have  the  gift,"  said  Mynors ;  and  the  paintress 
respectfully  applauded. 

"  I  felt  I  could  do  it,"  Anna  responded.  "  My  mother's 
mother  was  a  paintress,  and  it  must  be  in  the  blood." 

Mynors  smiled  indulgently.  They  descended  again  to 
the  ground  floor,  and  following  the  course  of  manufacture 
came  to  the  "  hardening-on  "  kiln,  a  minor  oven  where  for 
twelve  hours  the  oil  is  burnt  out  of  the  colour  in  decorated 
ware.  A  huge,  jolly  man  in  shirt  and  trousers,  with  an 
enormous  apron,  was  in  the  act  of  drawing  the  kiln,  assisted 
by  two  thin  boys.  He  nodded  a  greeting  to  Mynors  and  ex- 
claimed, "  Warm !  "  The  kiln  was  nearly  emptied.  As 
Anna  stopped  at  the  door,  the  man  addressed  her. 

"  Step  inside,  miss,  and  try  it." 

"  No,  thanks !  "  she  laughed. 

"  Come  now,"  he  insisted,  as  if  despising  this  hesitation. 

"  An  ounce  of  experience "  The  two  boys  grinned  and 

wiped  their  foreheads  with  their  bare  skeleton-like  arms. 


146  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Anna,  challenged  by  the  man's  look,  walked  quickly  into  the 
kiln.  A  blasting  heat  seemed  to  assault  her  on  every  side, 
driving  her  back;  it  was  incredible  that  any  human  being 
could  support  such  a  temperature. 

"  There !  "  said  the  jovial  man,  apparently  summing  her 
up  with  his  bright,  quizzical  eyes.  "  You  know  summat  as 
you  didn't  know  afore,  miss.  Come  along,  lads,"  he  added 
with  brisk  heartiness  to  the  boys,  and  the  drawing  of  the 
kiln  proceeded. 

Next  came  the  dipping-house,  where  a  middle-aged 
woman,  enveloped  in  a  protective  garment  from  head  to 
foot,  was  dipping  jugs  into  a  vat  of  lead-glaze,  a  boy  as- 
sisting her.  The  woman's  hands  were  covered  with  the  grey 
slimy  glaze.  She  alone  of  all  the  employees  appeared  to  be 
cool. 

"  That  is  the  last  stage  but  one,"  said  Mynors.  "  There 
is  only  the  glost-firing,"  and  they  passed  out  into  the  yard 
once  more.  One  of  the  glost-ovens  was  empty ;  they  entered 
it  and  peered  into  the  lofty  inner  chamber,  which  seemed 
like  the  cold  crater  of  an  exhausted  volcano,  or  like  a  vault, 
or  like  the  ruined  seat  of  some  forgotten  activity.  The 
other  oven  was  firing,  and  Anna  could  only  look  at  its  ex- 
terior, catching  glimpses  of  the  red  glow  at  its  twelve 
mouths,  and  guess  at  the  Tophet  within,  where  the  lead  was 
being  fused  into  glass. 

"  Now  for  the  glost-warehouse,  and  you  will  have  seen 
all,"  said  Mynors,  "  except  the  mould-shop,  and  that  doesn't 
matter." 

The  warehouse  was  the  largest  place  on  the  works,  a  room 


ON   THE  BANK  147 

sixty  feet  long  and  twenty  broad,  low,  whitewashed,  bare, 
and  clean.  Piles  of  ware  occupied  the  whole  of  the  walls 
and  of  the  immense  floor-space,  but  there  was  no  trace  here 
of  the  soilure  and  untidiness  incident  to  manufacture;  all 
processes  were  at  one  end,  clay  vanished  into  crock :  and  the 
calmness  and  the  whiteness  atoned  for  the  disorder,  noise, 
and  squalor  which  had  preceded.  Here  was  a  sample  of  the 
total  and  final  achievement  towards  which  the  thousands  of 
small,  disjointed  efforts  that  Anna  had  witnessed  were 
directed.  And  it  seemed  a  miraculous,  almost  impossible, 
result ;  so  definite,  precise,  and  regular  after  a  series  of  acts 
apparently  variable,  inexact,  and  casual ;  so  unhuman  after 
all  that  intensely  human  labour ;  so  vast  in  comparison  with 
the  minuteness  of  the  separate  endeavours.  As  Anna  looked, 
for  instance,  at  a  pile  of  tea-sets,  she  found  it  difficult  even 
to  conceive  that,  a  fortnight  or  so  before,  they  had  been 
nothing  but  lumps  of  dirty  clay.  No  stage  of  the  manu- 
facture was  incredible  by  itself,  but  the  result  was  incredible. 
It  was  the  result  that  appealed  to  the  imagination,  authen- 
ticating the  adage  that  fools  and  children  should  never  see 
anything  till  it  is  done. 

Anna  pondered  over  the  organising  power,  the  fore- 
thought, the  wide  vision,  and  the  sheer  ingenuity  and  clever- 
ness which  were  implied  by  the  contents  of  this  warehouse. 
"  What  brains !  "  she  thought,  of  Mynors ;  "  what  quan- 
tities of  all  sorts  of  things  he  must  know !  "  It  was  a  humble 
and  deeply-felt  admiration. 

Her  spoken  words  gave  no  clue  to  her  thoughts.  "  You 
seem  to  make  a  fine  lot  of  tea-sets,"  she  remarked. 


148  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Oh,  no !  "  he  said  carelessly.  "  These  few  that  you  see 
here  are  a  special  order.  I  don't  go  in  much  for  tea-sets: 
they  don't  pay;  we  lose  fifteen  per  cent,  of  the  pieces  in 
making.  It's  toilet-ware  that  pays,  and  that  is  our  leading 
line."  He  waved  an  arm  vaguely  towards  rows  and  rows 
of  ewers  and  basins  in  the  distance.  They  walked  to  the  end 
of  the  warehouse,  glancing  at  everything. 

"See  here,"  said  Mynors,  "isn't  that  pretty?"  He 
pointed  through  the  last  window  to  a  view  of  the  canal, 
which  could  be  seen  thence  in  perspective,  finishing  in  a 
curve.  On  one  side,  close  to  the  water's  edge,  was  a  ruined 
and  fragmentary  building,  its  rich  browns  reflected  in  the 
smooth  surface  of  the  canal.  On  the  other  side  were  a  few 
grim,  grey  trees  bordering  the  towpath.  Down  the  vista 
moved  a  boat  steered  by  a  woman  in  a  large  mob-cap. 
"  Isn't  that  picturesque  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Very,"  Anna  assented  willingly.  "  It's  really  quite 
strange,  such  a  scene  right  in  the  middle  of  Bursley." 

"  Oh !  There  are  others,"  he  said.  "  But  I  always  take 
a  peep  at  that  whenever  I  come  into  the  warehouse." 

"  I  wonder  you  find  time  to  notice  it — with  all  this  place 
to  see  after,"  she  said.  "  It's  a  splendid  works !  " 

"  It  will  do — to  be  going  on  with,"  he  answered,  satis- 
fied. "  I'm  very  glad  you've  been  down.  You  must  come 
again.  I  can  see  you  would  be  interested  in  it,  and  there 
are  plenty  of  things  you  haven't  looked  at  yet,  you  know." 

He  smiled  at  her.    They  were  alone  in  the  warehouse. 

"  Yes,"  she  said ;  "  I  expect  so.  Well,  I  must  go,  at  once ; 
I'm  afraid  it's  very  late  now.  Thank  you  for  showing  me 


ON   THE   BANK  149 

round,  and  explaining,  and — I'm  frightfully  stupid  and 
ignorant.  Good-bye." 

Vapid  and  trite  phrases :  what  unimaginable  messages  the 
hearer  heard  in  you ! 

Anna  held  out  her  hand,  and  he  seized  it  almost  convul- 
sively, his  incendiary  eyes  fastened  on  her  face. 

"  I  must  see  you  out,"  he  said,  dropping  that  ungloved 
hand. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  that  night  before  Ephraim  Tellwright 
returned  home  from  Axe.  He  appeared  to  be  in  a  bad  tem- 
per. Agnes  had  gone  to  bed.  His  supper  of  bread-and- 
cheese  and  water  was  waiting  for  him,  and  Anna  sat  at  the 
table  while  he  consumed  it.  He  ate  in  silence,  somewhat  hun- 
grily, and  she  did  not  deem  the  moment  propitious  for  tell- 
ing him  about  her  visit  to  Mynors'  works. 

"  Has  Titus  Price  sent  up?  "  he  asked  at  length,  gulping 
down  the  last  of  the  water. 

"Sent  up?" 

"  Yes.  Art  fond,  lass  ?  I  told  him  as  he  mun  send  up 
some  more  o'  thy  rent  to-day — twenty-five  pun.  He's  not 
sent?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  timidly.  "  I  was  out  this  after- 
noon." 

"Out,  wast?" 

"  Mr.  Mynors  sent  word  to  ask  me  to  go  down  and  look 
over  the  works;  so  I  went.  I  thought  it  would  be  all 
right." 

"  Well,  it  was'na  all  right.  And  I'd  like  to  know  what 
business  thou  hast  gadding  out,  as  soon  as  my  back's  turned. 


150  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

How  can  I  tell  whether  Price  sent  up  or  not?  And  what's 
more,  thou  know's  as  th'  house  hadn't  ought  to  be  left." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  she  said  pleasantly,  with  a  determination  to 
be  meek  and  dutiful. 

He  grunted.  "  Happen  he  didna'  send.  And  if  he  did, 
and  found  th'  house  locked  up,  he  should  ha'  sent  again. 
Bring  me  th'  inkpot,  and  I'll  write  a  note  as  Agnes  must 
take  when  her  goes  to  school  to-morrow  morning." 

Anna  obeyed.  "  They'll  never  be  able  to  pay  twenty- 
five  pounds,  father,"  she  ventured.  "  They've  paid  thirty 
already,  you  know." 

"  Less  gab,"  he  said  shortly,  taking  up  the  pen.  "  Here 
— write  it  thysen."  He  threw  the  pen  towards  her.  "  Tell 
Titus  if  he  doesn't  pay  five-and-twenty  this  wik,  us  '11  put 
bailiffs  in." 

"  Won't  it  come  better  from  you,  father?  "  she  pleaded. 

"  Whose  property  is  it  ?  "  The  laconic  question  was  final. 
She  knew  she  must  obey,  and  began  to  write.  But,  realising 
that  she  would  perforce  meet  both  Titus  Price  and  Willie 
on  Sunday,  she  merely  demanded  the  money,  omitting  the 
threat.  Her  hand  trembled  as  she  passed  the  note  to  him  to 
read. 

"Will  that  do?" 

His  reply  was  to  tear  the  paper  across.  "  Put  down 
what  I  tell  ye,"  he  ordered,  "  and  don't  let's  have  any  more 
paper  wasted."  Then  he  dictated  a  letter  which  was  an 
ultimatum  in  three  lines.  "  Sign  it,"  he  said. 

She  signed  it,  weeping.  She  could  see  the  wistful  re- 
proach in  Willie  Price's  eyes. 


ON   THE   BANK  151 

"  I  suppose,"  her  father  said,  when  she  bade  him  "  Good- 
night," "  I  suppose  if  I  had'na  asked,  I  should  ha'  heard 
nowt  o'  this  gadding-about  wi'  Mynors  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  tell  you  I  had  been  to  the  works,  father," 
she  said. 

"  Going  to !  "  That  was  his  final  blow,  and  having  de- 
livered it,  he  loosed  his  victim.  "  Get  to  bed,"  he  said. 

She  went  upstairs,  resolutely  read  her  Bible,  and  reso- 
lutely prayed. 


IX:   THE   TREAT 

THIS  surly  and  terrorising  ferocity  of  Tellwright's 
was  as  instinctive  as  the  growl  and  spring  of  a  beast 
of  prey.  He  never  considered  his  attitude  towards 
the  women  of  his  household  as  an  unusual  phenomenon  which 
needed  justification,  or  as  being  in  the  least  abnormal.  The 
women  of  a  household  were  the  natural  victims  of  their 
master :  in  his  experience  it  had  always  been  so.  In  his  ex- 
perience the  master  had  always,  by  universal  consent,  pos- 
sessed certain  rights  over  the  self-respect,  the  happiness,  and 
the  peace  of  the  defenceless  souls  set  under  him — rights  as 
unquestioned  as  those  exercised  by  Ivan  the  Terrible.  Such 
rights  were  rooted  in  the  secret  nature  of  things.  It  was 
futile  to  discuss  them,  because  their  necessity  and  their  pro- 
priety were  equally  obvious.  Tellwright  would  not  have 
been  angry  with  any  man  who  impugned  them:  he  would 
merely  have  regarded  the  fellow  as  a  crank  and  a  born  fool, 
on  whom  logic  or  indignation  would  be  entirely  wasted.  He 
did  as  his  father  and  uncles  had  done.  He  still  thought  of 
his  father  as  a  grim  customer,  infinitely  more  redoubtable 
than  himself.  He  really  believed  that  parents  spoiled  their 
children  nowadays:  to  be  knocked  down  by  a  single  blow 
was  one  of  the  punishments  of  his  own  generation.  He 
could  recall  the  fearful  timidity  of  his  mother's  eyes  without 
a  trace  of  compassion.  His  treatment  of  his  daughters  was 
no  part  of  a  system,  nor  obedient  to  any  defined  principles, 

152 


THE  TREAT  153 

nor  the  expression  of  a  brutal  disposition,  nor  the  result  of 
gradually-acquired  habit.  It  came  to  him  like  eating,  and 
like  parsimony.  He  belonged  to  the  great  and  powerful 
class  of  house-tyrants,  the  backbone  of  the  British  nation, 
whose  views  on  income-tax  cause  ministries  to  tremble.  If 
you  had  talked  to  him  of  the  domestic  graces  of  life,  your 
words  would  have  conveyed  to  him  no  meaning.  If  you  had 
indicted  him  for  simple,  unprovoked  rudeness,  he  would  have 
grinned,  well  knowing  that,  as  the  King  can  do  no  wrong,  so 
a  man  cannot  be  rude  in  his  own  house.  If  you  had  told  him 
that  he  inflicted  purposeless  misery  not  only  on  others,  but 
4011  himself,  he  would  have  grinned  again,  vaguely  aware 
that  he  had  not  tried  to  be  happy,  and  rather  despising  hap- 
piness as  a  sort  of  childish  gewgaw.  He  had,  in  fact,  never 
been  happy  at  home :  he  had  never  known  that  expansion  of 
the  spirit  which  is  called  joy  ;  he  existed  continually  under  a 
grievance.  The  atmosphere  of  Manor  Terrace  afflicted  him, 
too,  with  a  melancholy  gloom — him,  who  had  created  it. 
Had  he  been  capable  of  self-analysis,  he  would  have  dis- 
covered that  his  heart  lightened  whenever  he  left  the  house, 
and  grew  dark  whenever  he  returned ;  but  he  was  incapable 
of  the  feat.  His  case,  like  every  similar  case,  was  irremedi- 
able. 

The  next  morning  his  preposterous  displeasure  lay  like  a 
curse  on  the  house;  Anna  was  silent,  and  Agnes  moved  on 
timid  feet.  In  the  afternoon  Willie  Price  called  in  answer 
to  the  note.  The  miser  was  in  the  garden,  and  Agnes  at 
school.  Willie's  craven  and  fawning  humility  was  inex- 
pressibly touching  and  shameful  to  Anna.  She  longed  to 


154  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

say  to  him,  as  he  stood  hesitant  and  confused  in  the  parlour : 
"  Go  in  peace.  Forget  this  despicable  rent.  It  sickens  me 
to  see  you  so."  She  foresaw,  as  the  effect  of  her  father's 
vindictive  pursuit  of  her  tenants,  an  interminable  succession 
of  these  mortifying  interviews. 

"  You're  rather  hard  on  us,"  Willie  Price  began,  using 
the  old  phrases,  but  in  a  tone  of  forced  and  propitiatory 
cheerfulness,  as  though  he  feared  to  bring  down  a  storm  of 
anger,  which  should  ruin  all.  "  You'll  not  deny  that  we've 
been  doing  our  best." 

"  The  rent  is  due,  you  know,  Mr.  William,"  she  replied, 
blushing. 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  he  said  quickly.  "  I  don't  deny  that.  I 
admit  that.  I — did  you  happen  to  see  Mr.  Tellwright's 
postscript  to  your  letter?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  without  thinking. 

He  drew  the  letter,  soiled  and  creased,  from  his  pocket, 
and  displayed  it  to  her.  At  the  foot  of  the  page  she  read,  in 
Ephraim's  thick  and  clumsy  characters :  "  P.  S.  This  is 
final." 

"  My  father,"  said  Willie,  "  was  a  little  put  about.  He 
said  he'd  never  received  such  a  letter  before  in  the  whole  of 
his  business  career.  It  isn't  as  if " 

"  I  needn't  tell  you,"  she  interrupted,  with  a  sudden  de- 
termination to  get  to  the  worst  without  more  suspense,  "  that 
of  course  I  am  in  father's  hands." 

"  Oh !  Of  course,  Miss  Tellwright ;  we  quite  understand 
that — quite.  It's  just  a  matter  of  business.  We  owe  a 
debt  and  we  must  pay  it.  All  we  want  is  time."  He  smiled 


THE  TREAT  165 

piteously  at  her,  his  blue  eyes  full  of  appeal.  She  was 
obliged  to  gaze  at  the  floor. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  tapping  her  foot  on  the  rug.  "  But 
father  means  what  he  says."  She  looked  up  at  him  again, 
trying  to  soften  her  words  by  means  of  something  more 
subtle  than  a  smile. 

"  He  means  what  he  says,"  Willie  agreed ;  "  and  I  admire 
him  for  it." 

The  obsequious,  truckling  lie  was  odious  to  her. 

"  Perhaps  I  could  see  him,"  he  ventured. 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  Anna  said  sincerely.  "  Father, 
you're  wanted,"  she  called  curtly  through  the  win- 
dow. 

"  I've  got  a  proposal  to  make  to  him,"  Price  continued, 
while  they  awaited  the  presence  of  the  miser,  "  and  I  can't 
hardly  think  he'll  refuse  it." 

"  Well,  young  sir,"  Tellwright  said  blandly,  with  an  air 
almost  insinuating,  as  he  entered.  Willie  Price,  the  simple- 
ton, was  deceived  by  it,  and,  taking  courage,  adopted 
another  line  of  defence.  He  thought  the  miser  was  a  little 
ashamed  of  his  postscript. 

"About  your  note,  Mr.  Tellwright;  I  was  just  telling 
Miss  Tellwright  that  my  father  said  he  had  never  received 
such  a  letter  in  the  whole  of  his  business  career."  The 
youth  assumed  a  discreet  indignation. 

"  Thy  feyther's  had  dozens  o'  such  letters,  lad,"  the  miser 
said  with  cold  emphasis,  "  or  my  name's  not  Tellwright. 
Dunna  tell  me  as  Titus  Price's  never  heard  of  a  bumbailiff 
afore." 


156  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Willie  was  crushed  at  a  blow,  and  obliged  to  retreat.  He 
smiled  painfully.  "  Come,  Mr.  Tellwright.  Don't  talk 
like  that.  All  we  want  is  time." 

"  Time  is  money,"  said  Tellwright,  "  and  if  us  give  you 
time  us  give  you  money.  'Stead  o'  that,  it's  you  as  mun 
give  us  money.  That's  right  reason." 

Willie  laughed  with  difficulty.  "  See  here,  Mr.  Tell- 
wright. To  cut  a  long  story  short,  it's  like  this.  You 
ask  for  twenty-five  pounds.  I've  got  in  my  pocket  a  bill 
of  exchange  drawn  by  us  on  Mr.  Sutton  and  endorsed  by 
him,  for  thirty  pounds,  payable  in  three  months.  Will  you 
take  that?  Remember  it's  for  thirty,  and  you  only  ask 
for  twenty-five." 

"  So  Mr.  Sutton  has  dealings  with  ye,  eh  ?  "  Tellwright 
remarked. 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  Willie  answered  proudly.  "  He  buys  off  us 
regularly.  We've  done  business  for  years." 

"  And  pays  i'  bills  at  three  months,  eh?  "  The  miser 
grinned. 

"  Sometimes,"  said  Willie. 

"  Let's  see  it,"  said  the  miser. 

"What— the  bill?" 

"  Ay ! " 

"  Oh !  The  bill's  all  right."  Willie  took  it  from  his 
pocket,  and  opening  out  the  blue  paper,  gave  it  to  old  Tell- 
wright. Anna  perceived  the  anxiety  on  the  youth's  face. 
He  flushed  and  his  hand  trembled.  She  dared  not  speak, 
but  she  wished  to  tell  him  to  be  at  ease.  She  knew  from 
infallible  signs  that  her  father  would  take  the  bill.  Ephraim 


THE  TREAT  157 

gazed  at  the  stamped  paper  as  at  something  strange  and 
unprecedented  in  his  experience. 

"  Father  would  want  you  not  to  negotiate  that  bill,"  said 
Willie.  "  The  fact  is,  we  promised  Mr.  Sutton  that  that 
particular  bill  should  not  leave  our  hands — unless  it  was 
absolutely  necessary.  So  father  would  like  you  not  to  dis- 
count it,  and  he  will  redeem  it  before  it  matures.  You  quite 
understand — we  don't  care  to  offend  an  old  customer  like 
Mr.  Sutton." 

"  Then  this  bit  o'  paper's  worth  nowt  for  welly*  three 
months?  "  the  old  man  said,  with  an  affectation  of  bewil- 
dered simplicity. 

Happily  inspired  for  once,  Willie  made  no  answer,  but 
put  the  question :  "  Will  you  take  it  ?  " 

"  Ay !  Us  '11  tak'  it,"  said  Tellwright,  "  though  it  is 
but  a  promise."  He  was  well  pleased. 

Young  Price's  face  showed  his  relief.  It  was  now  evident 
that  he  had  been  passing  through  an  ordeal.  Anna  guessed 
that  perhaps  everything  had  depended  on  the  acceptance  by 
Tellwright  of  that  bill.  Had  he  refused  it,  Prices,  she 
thought,  might  have  come  to  sudden  disaster.  She  felt 
glad  and  disburdened  for  the  moment;  but  immediately  it 
occurred  to  her  that  her  father  would  not  rest  satisfied  for 
long;  a  few  weeks,  and  he  would  give  another  turn  to  the 
screw. 

The  Tellwrights  were  destined  to  have  other  visitors  that 
afternoon.     Agnes,  coming  from  school,  was  accompanied 
by  a  lady.     Anna,  who  was  setting  the  tea-table,  saw  a 
*  Welly,  nearly. 


158  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

double  shadow  pass  the  window,  and  heard  voices.  She  ran 
into  the  kitchen,  and  found  Mrs.  Sutton  seated  on  a  chair, 
breathing  quickly. 

"  You'll  excuse  me  coming  in  so  unceremoniously,  Anna," 
she  said,  after  having  kissed  her  heartily.  "  But  Agnes 
said  that  she  always  came  in  by  the  back  way,  so  I  came  that 
way  too.  Now  I'm  resting  a  minute.  I've  had  to  walk 
to-day.  Our  horse  has  gone  lame." 

This  kind  heart  radiated  a  heavenly  good  will,  even  in  the 
most  ordinary  phrases.  Anna  began  to  expand  at  once. 

"  Now  do  come  into  the  parlour,"  she  said,  "  and  let  me 
make  you  comfortable." 

"  Just  a  minute,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Sutton  begged,  fanning 
herself  with  her  handkerchief.  "  Agnes's  legs  are  so  long." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Sutton,"  Agnes  protested,  laughing,  "  how 
can  you  ?  I  could  scarcely  keep  up  with  you !  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  never  could  walk  slowly.  I'm  one  of 
them  that  go  till  they  drop.  It's  very  silly."  She  smiled, 
and  the  two  girls  smiled  happily  in  return. 

"  Agnes,"  said  the  housewife,  "  set  another  cup  and 
saucer  and  plate."  Agnes  threw  down  her  hat  and  satchel . 
of  books,  eager  to  show  hospitality. 

"  It  still  keeps  very  warm,"  Anna  remarked,  as  Mrs.  Sut- 
ton was  silent. 

"  It's  beautifully  cool  here,"  said  Mrs.  Sutton.  "  I  see 
you've  got  your  kitchen  like  a  new  pin,  Anna,  if  you'll  ex- 
cuse me  saying  so.  Henry  was  very  enthusiastic  about  this 
kitchen  the  other  night,  at  our  house." 

"What!     Mr.  Mynors?  "     Anna  reddened  to  the  eyes. 


THE  TREAT  159 

"  Yes,  my  dear ;  and  he's  a  very  particular  young  man, 
you  know." 

The  kettle  conveniently  boiled  at  that  moment,  and  Anna 
went  to  the  range  to  make  the  tea. 

"  Tea  is  all  ready,  Mrs.  Sutton,"  she  said  at  length.  "  I'm 
sure  you  could  do  with  a  cup." 

"That  I  could,"  said  Mrs.  Sutton.  "It's  what  I've 
come  for." 

"  We  have  tea  at  four.  Father  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 
The  clock  struck,  and  they  went  into  the  parlour,  Anna, 
carrying  the  tea-pot  and  the  hot-water  jug.  Agnes  had 
preceded  them.  The  old  man  was  sitting  expectant  in  his 
chair. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Tellwright,"  said  the  visitor,  "  you  see  I've 
called  to  see  you,  and  to  beg  a  cup  of  tea.  I  overtook  Agnes 
coming  home  from  school — overtook  her,  mind — me,  at  my 
age !  "  Ephraim  rose  slowly  and  shook  hands. 

"  You're  welcome,"  he  said  curtly,  but  with  a  kindliness 
that  amazed  Anna.  She  was  unaware  that  in  past  days  he 
had  known  Mrs.  Sutton  as  a  young  and  charming  girl,  a 
vision  that  had  stirred  poetic  ideas  in  hundreds  of  prosaic 
breasts,  Tellwright's  included.  There  was  scarcely  a  mid- 
dle-aged male  Wesley  an  in  Bursley  and  Hanbridge  who  had 
not  a  peculiar  regard  for  Mrs.  Sutton,  and  who  did  not 
think  that  he  alone  truly  appreciated  her. 

"  What  an'  you  bin  tiring  yourself  with  this  afternoon  ?  " 
he  asked,  when  they  had  begun  tea,  and  Mrs.  Sutton  had 
refused  a  second  piece  of  bread-and-butter. 

"  What  have  I  been  doing?    I've  been  seeing  to  some  in- 


160  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

side  repairs  to  the  superintendent's  house.  Be  thankful  you 
aren't  a  circuit-steward's  wife,  Anna." 

"  Why,  does  she  have  to  see  to  the  repairs  of  the  minister's 
house?  "  Anna  asked,  surprised. 

"  I  should  just  think  she  does.  She  has  to  stand  between 
the  minister's  wife  and  the  funds  of  the  society.  And  Mrs. 
Reginald  Banks  has  been  used  to  the  very  best  of  every- 
thing. She's  just  a  bit  exacting,  though  I  must  say  she's 
willing  enough  to  spend  her  own  money  too.  She  wants 
a  new  boiler  in  the  scullery  now,  and  I'm  sure  her  boiler 
is  a  great  deal  better  than  ours.  But  we  must  try  to  please 
her.  She  isn't  used  to  us  rough  folks  and  our  ways.  Mr. 
Banks  said  to  me  this  afternoon  that  he  tried  always  to  shield 
her  from  the  worries  of  this  world."  She  smiled  almost 
imperceptibly. 

There  was  a  ring  at  the  bell,  and  Agnes,  much  perturbed 
by  the  august  arrival,  let  in  Mr.  Banks  himself. 

"  Shall  I  enter,  my  little  dear?  "  said  Mr.  Banks.  "  Your 
father,  your  sister,  in  ?  " 

"  It  ne'er  rains  but  it  pours,"  said  Tellwright,  who  had 
caught  the  minister's  voice. 

"  Speak  of  angels "  said  Mrs.  Sutton,  laughing 

quietly. 

The  minister  came  grandly  into  the  parlour.  "  Ah ! 
How  do  you  do,  brother  Tellwright,  and  you,  Miss  Tell- 
wright? Mrs.  Sutton,  we  two  seem  happily  fated  to  meet 
this  afternoon.  Don't  let  me  disturb  you,  I  beg — I  cannot 
stay.  My  time  is  very  limited.  I  wish  I  could  call  oftener, 
brother  Tellwright;  but  really  the  new  regime  leaves  no 


THE  TREAT  161 

time  for  pastoral  visits.  I  was  saying  to  my  wife  only  this 
morning  that  I  haven't  had  a  free  afternoon  for  a  month." 
He  accepted  a  cup  of  tea. 

"  Us'n  having  a  tea-party  this  afternoon,"  said  Tell- 
wright  quasi-priva.te]y  to  Mrs.  Sutton. 

"  And  now,"  the  minister  resumed,  "  I've  come  to  beg. 
The  special  fund,  you  know,  Mr.  Tellwright,  to  clear  off 
the  debt  on  the  new  school-buildings.  I  referred  to  it  from 
the  pulpit  last  Sabbath.  It's  not  in  my  province  to  go 
round  begging,  but  someone  must  do  it." 

"  Well,  for  me,  I'm  beforehand  with  you,  Mr.  Banks," 
said  Mrs.  Sutton,  "  for  it's  on  that  very  errand  that  I've 
called  to  see  Mr.  Tellwright  this  afternoon.  His  name  is  on 
my  list." 

"  Ah !  Then  I  leave  our  brother  to  your  superior  per- 
suasions." 

"  Come,  Mr.  Tellwright,"  said  Mrs.  Sutton,  "  you're  be- 
tween two  fires,  and  you'll  get  no  mercy.  What  will  you 
give?  " 

The  miser  foresaw  a  probable  discomfiture,  and  sought 
for  some  means  of  escape. 

"  What  are  others  giving  ?  "  he  asked 

"  My  husband  is  giving  fifty  pounds,  and  you  could  buy 
him  up,  lock,  stock,  arid  barrel." 

"  Nay,  nay !  "  said  Tellwright,  aghast  at  this  sum.  He 
had  underrated  the  importance  of  the  Building  Fund. 

"  And  I,"  said  the  parson  solemnly,  "  I  have  but  fifty 
pounds  in  the  world,  but  I  am  giving  twenty  to  this 
fund." 


162  ANNA  OF  THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  Then  you're  giving  too  much,"  said  Tellwright  with 
quick  brusqueness.  "  You  canna'  afford  it." 

"  The  Lord  will  provide,"  said  the  parson. 

"  Happen  He  will,  happen  not.  It's  as  well  you've  got- 
ten a  rich  wife,  Mr.  Banks." 

The  parson's  dignity  was  obviously  wounded,  and  Anna 
wondered  timidly  what  would  occur  next.  Mrs.  Sutton  in- 
terposed. "  Come  now,  Mr.  Tellwright,"  she  said  again, 
"  to  the  point :  what  will  you  give  ?  " 

"  I'll  think  it  over  and  let  you  hear,"  said  Ephraim. 

"  Oh,  no !  That  won't  do  at  all,  will  it,  Mr.  Banks?  I, 
at  any  rate,  am  not  going  away  without  a  definite  promise. 
As  an  old  and  good  Wesleyan,  of  course  you  will  feel  it  your 
duty  to  be  generous  with  us." 

"  You  used  to  be  a  pillar  of  the  Hanbridge  circuit — was 
it  not  so?  "  said  Mr.  Banks  to  the  miser,  recovering  himself. 

"  So  they  used  to  say,"  Tellwright  replied  grimly. 
"  That  was  because  I  cleared  'em  of  debt  in  ten  years.  But 
they've  slipped  into  th'  ditch  again  sin'  I  left  'em." 

"  But,  if  I  am  right,  you  do  not  meet*  with  us,"  the  min- 
ister pursued  imperturbably. 

"  No." 

"  My  own  class  is  at  three  on  Saturdays,"  said  the  minis- 
ter. "  I  should  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  said  the  miser  to  Mrs.  Sutton. 
"  Titus  Price  is  a  big  man  at  th'  Sunday  School.  I'll  give 
as  much  as  he  gives  to  th'  school  buildings.  That's  fair." 

*  Meet:  meet  in  class— a  gathering  for  the  exchange  of  religious  coun- 
sel and  experience. 


THE  TREAT  163 

"  Do  you  know  what  Mr.  Price  is  giving?  "  Mrs.  Sutton 
asked  the  minister. 

"  I  saw  Mr.  Price  yesterday.  He  is  giving  twenty-five 
pounds." 

"  Very  well,  that's  a  bargain,"  said  Mrs.  Sutton,  who 
had  succeeded  beyond  her  expectations. 

Ephraim  was  the  dupe  of  his  own  scheming.  He  had 
made  sure  that  Price's  contribution  would  be  a  small  one. 
This  ostentatious  munificence  on  the  part  of  the  beggared 
Titus  filled  him  with  secret  anger.  He  determined  to  de- 
mand more  rent  at  a  very  early  date. 

"  I'll  put  you  down  for  twenty-five  pounds  as  a  first  sub- 
scription," said  the  minister,  taking  out  a  pocket-book. 
"  Perhaps  you  will  give  Mrs.  Sutton  or  myself  the  cheque 
to-day?" 

"  Has  Mr.  Price  paid  ?  "  the  miser  asked   warily. 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Then  come  to  me  when  he  has."  Ephraim  perceived 
the  way  of  escape. 

When  the  minister  was  gone,  as  Mrs.  Sutton  seemed 
in  no  hurry  to  depart,  Anna  and  Agnes  cleared  the 
table. 

"  I've  just  been  telling  your  father,  Anna,"  said  Mrs. 
Sutton,  when  Anna  returned  to  the  room,  "  that  Mr.  Sutton 
and  myself  and  Beatrice  are  going  to  the  Isle  of  Man  soon 
for  a  fortnight  or  so,  and  we  should  very  much  like  you 
to  come  with  us." 

Anna's  heart  began  to  beat  violently,  though  she  knew 
there  was  no  hope  for  her.  This,  then,  doubtless,  was  the 


164  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

main  object  of  Mrs.  Button's  visit!  "Oh,  but  I  couldn't, 
really  !  "  said  Anna,  scarcely  knowing  what  she  did  say. 

"  Why  not?  "  asked  Mrs.  Sutton. 

"  Well— the  house." 

"  The  house?  Agnes  could  see  to  what  little  housekeep- 
ing your  father  would  want.  The  schools  will  break  up 
next  week." 

"  What  do  these  young  folks  want  holidays  for?  "  Tell- 
wright  inquired  with  philosophic  gruffness.  "  I  never  had 
one.  And  what's  more,  I  wouldn't  thank  ye  for  one.  I'll 
pig  on  at  Bursley.  When  ye've  gotten  a  roof  of  your  own, 
where's  the  sense  o'  going  elsewhere  and  pigging?  " 

"  But  we  really  want  Anna  to  go,"  Mrs.  Sutton  went  on. 
"  Beatrice  is  very  anxious  about  it.  Beatrice  is  very  short 
of  suitable  friends." 

"  I  should  na'  ha'  thought  it,"  said  Tellwright.  "  Her 
seems  to  know  everyone." 

"  But  she  is,"  Mrs.  Sutton  insisted. 

"  I  think  as  you'd  better  leave  Anna  out  this  year,"  said 
the  miser  stubbornly. 

Anna  wished  profoundly  that  Mrs.  Sutton  would  abandon 
the  futile  attempt.  Then  she  perceived  that  the  visitor  was 
signalling  to  her  to  leave  the  room.  Anna  obeyed,  going 
into  the  kitchen  to  give  an  eye  to  Agnes,  who  was  washing 
up. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  Mrs.  Sutton  contentedly,  when 
Anna  returned  to  the  parlour.  "  Your  father  has  consented 
to  your  going  with  us.  It  is  very  kind  of  him,  for  I'm  sure 
he'll  miss  you." 


THE  TREAT  165 

Anna  sat  down,  limp,  speechless.  She  could  not  believe 
the  news. 

"  You  are  awfully  good,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Sutton  in  the 
lobby,  as  the  latter  was  leaving  the  house.  "  I'm  ever  so 
grateful — you  can't  think."  And  she  threw  her  arms  round 
Mrs.  Sutton's  neck. 

Agnes  ran  up  to  say  good-bye. 

Mrs.  Sutton  kissed  the  child.  "  Agnes  will  be  the  little 
housekeeper,  eh  ?  "  The  little  housekeeper  was  almost  as 
pleased  at  the  prospect  of  housekeeping  as  if  she,  too,  had 
been  going  to  the  Isle  of  Man.  "  You'll  both  be  at  the 
school-treat  next  Tuesday,  I  suppose,"  Mrs.  Sutton  said, 
holding  Agnes  by  the  hand.  Agnes  glanced  at  her  sister 
in  enquiry. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Anna  replied.     "  We  shall  see." 

The  truth  was  that,  not  caring  to  ask  her  father  for  the 
money  for  the  tickets,  she  had  given  no  thought  to  the 
school-treat. 

"  Did  I  tell  you  that  Henry  Mynors  will  most  likely  come 
with  us  to  the  Isle  of  Man?  "  said  Mrs.  Sutton  from  the 
gate. 

Anna  retired  to  her  bedroom  to  savour  an  astounding 
happiness  in  quietude.  At  supper  the  miser  was  in  a  mood 
not  unbenevolent.  She  expected  a  reaction  the  next  morn- 
ing, but  Ephraim,  strange  to  say,  remained  innocuous. 
She  ventured  to  ask  him  for  the  money  for  the  treat  tickets, 
two  shillings.  He  made  no  immediate  reply.  Half  an 
hour  afterwards,  he  ejaculated:  "  What  i'  th'  name  o'  for- 
tune dost  thee  want  wi'  school-treats  ?  " 


166  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  It's  Agnes,"  she  answered ;  "  of  course  Agnes  can't  go 
alone." 

In  the  end  he  threw  down  a  florin.  He  became  perilous 
for  the  rest  of  the  day,  but  the  florin  was  an  indisputable 
fact  in  Anna's  pocket. 

The  school-treat  was  held  in  a  twelve-acre  field  near 
Sneyd,  the  seat  of  a  marquis,  and  a  Saturday  afternoon 
resort  very  popular  in  the  Five  Towns.  The  children  were 
formed  at  noon  on  Duck  Bank  into  a  procession,  which 
marched  to  the  railway  station  to  the  singing  of  "  Shall 
we  gather  at  the  river?  "  Thence  a  special  train  car- 
ried them,  in  seething  compartments,  excited  and  strident, 
to  Sneyd,  where  the  procession  was  re-formed  along  a  coun- ' 
try  road.  There  had  been  two  sharp  showers  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  the  vacillating  sky  threatened  more  rain;  but  be- 
cause the  sun  had  shone  dazzlingly  at  eleven  o'clock  all  the 
women  and  girls,  too  easily  tempted  by  the  glory  of  the 
moment,  blossomed  forth  in  pale  blouses  and  parasols.  The 
chattering  crowd,  bright  and  defenceless  as  flowers,  made 
at  Sneyd  a  picture  at  once  gay  and  pathetic.  It  had  rained 
there  at  half-past  twelve;  the  roads  were  wet;  and  among 
the  250  children  and  30  teachers  there  were  less  than  a  score 
umbrellas. 

The  excursion  was  theoretically  in  charge  of  Titus 
Price,  the  Senior  Superintendent,  but  this  dignitary  had 
failed  to  arrive  on  Duck  Bunk,  and  Mynors  had  taken 
his  place.  In  the  train  Anna  heard  that  someone  had  seen 
Mr.  Price,  wearing  a  large  grey  wideawake,  leap  into  the 
guard's  van  at  the  very  instant  of  departure.  He  had  not 


THE  TREAT  167 

been  at  school  on  the  previous  Sunday,  and  Anna  was  some- 
what perturbed  at  the  prospect  of  meeting  the  man  who  had 
defined  her  letter  to  him  as  unique  in  the  whole  of  his  busi- 
ness career.  She  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  grey  wideawake 
on  the  platform  at  Sneyd,  and  steered  her  own  scholars  so 
as  to  avoid  its  vicinity.  But  on  the  march  to  the  field  Titus 
reviewed  the  procession,  and  she  was  obliged  to  meet  his  eyes 
and  return  his  salutation.  The  look  of  the  man  was  a  shock 
to  her.  He  seemed  thinner,  nervous,  restless,  preoccupied, 
and  terribly  careworn ;  except  the  new  brilliant  hat,  all  his 
summer  clothes  were  soiled  and  shabby.  It  was  as  though 
he  had  forced  himself,  out  of  regard  for  appearances,  to 
attend  the  fete,  but  had  left  his  thoughts  in  Edward  Street. 
His  uneasy  and  hollow  cheerfulness  was  painful  to  watch. 
Anna  realised  the  intensity  of  the  crisis  through  which  Mr. 
Price  was  passing.  She  perceived  in  a  single  glance,  more 
clearly  than  she  could  have  done  after  a  hundred  interviews 
with  the  young  and  unresponsible  William — however  dis- 
tressing these  might  be — that  Titus  must  for  weeks  have 
been  engaged  in  a  truly  frightful  struggle.  His  face  was 
a  proof  of  the  tragic  sincerity  of  William's  appeals  to  her- 
self and  to  her  father.  That  Price  should  have  contrived 
to  pay  seventy  pounds  of  rent  in  a  little  more  than  a  month 
seemed  to  her,  imperfectly  acquainted  alike  with  Ephraim's 
ruthless  compulsions  and  with  the  financial  jugglery  often 
practiced  by  hard-pressed  debtors,  to  be  an  almost  miracu- 
lous effort  after  honesty.  Her  conscience  smote  her  for  con- 
niving at  what  she  now  saw  to  be  a  persecution.  She  felt 
as  sorry  for  Titus  as  she  had  felt  for  his  son.  The  obese 


168  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

man,  with  his  reputation  in  rags  about  him,  was  acutely 
wistful  in  her  eyes,  as  a  child  might  have  been. 

A  carriage  rolled  by,  raising  the  dust  in  places  where 
the  strong  sun  had  already  dried  the  road.  It  was  Mr.  Sut- 
ton's  landau,  driven  by  Barrett.  Beatrice,  in  white,  sat 
solitary  amid  cushions,  while  two  large  hampers  occupied 
most  of  the  coachman's  box.  The  carriage  seemed  to  move 
with  lordly  ease  and  rapidity,  and  the  teachers,  already 
weary  and  fretted  by  the  endless  pranks  of  the  children, 
bitterly  envied  the  enthroned  maiden  who  nodded  and  smiled 
to  them  with  such  charming  condescension.  It  was  a  social 
triumph  for  Beatrice.  She  disappeared  ahead  like  a  god- 
dess in  a  cloud,  and  scarcely  a  woman  who  saw  her  from  the 
humble  level  of  the  roadway  but  would  have  married  a  satyr 
to  be  able  to  do  as  Beatrice  did.  Later,  when  the  field  was 
reached,  and  the  children,  bursting  through  the  gate,  had 
spread  like  a  flood  over  the  daisied  grass,  the  landau  was  to 
be  seen  drawn  up  near  the  refreshment  tent ;  Barrett  was  un- 
packing the  hampers,  which  contained  delicate  creamy  con- 
fectionery for  the  teachers'  tea;  Beatrice  explained  that 
these  were  her  mother's  gift,  and  that  she  had  driven  down 
in  order  to  preserve  the  fragile  pasties  from  the  risks  of 
a  railway  journey.  Gratitude  became  vocal,  and  Beatrice's 
success  was  perfected. 

Then  the  more  conscientious  teachers  set  themselves  seri- 
ously to  the  task  of  amusing  the  smaller  children,  and  the 
smaller  children  consented  to  be  amused  according  to  the 
recipes  appointed  by  long  custom  for  school-treats.  Many 
round-games,  which  invariably  comprised  singing  or  kissing, 


THE  TREAT  169 

being  thus  annually  resuscitated  by  elderly  people  from  the 
deeps  of  memory,  were  preserved  for  a  posterity  which  other- 
wise would  never  have  known  them.  Among  these  was 
Bobby-Bingo.  For  twenty-five  years  Titus  Price  had 
played  at  Bobby-Bingo  with  the  infant  classes  at  the  school- 
treat,  and  this  year  he  was  bound  by  the  expectations  of  all 
to  continue  the  practice.  Another  diversion  which  he 
always  took  care  to  organise  was  the  three-legged  race  for 
boys.  Also,  he  usually  joined  in  the  tut-ball,  a  quaint 
game,  which  owes  its  surprising  longevity  to  the  fact  that  it 
is  equally  proper  for  both  sexes.  Within  half  an  hour  the 
treat  was  in  full  career;  football,  cricket,  rounders,  tick, 
leap-frog,  prison-bars,  and  round  games,  transformed  the 
field  into  a  vast  arena  of  complicated  struggles  and  emula- 
tions. All  were  occupied,  except  a  few  of  the  women  and 
older  girls,  who  strolled  languidly  about  in  the  role  of  spec- 
tators. The  sun  shone  generously  on  scores  of  vivid  and 
frail  toilettes,  and  parasols  made  slowly-moving  hemispheres 
of  glowing  colour  against  the  rich  green  of  the  grass.  All 
around  were  yellow  cornfields,  and  meadows  where  cows  of  a 
burnished  brown  indolently  meditated  upon  the  phenomena 
of  a  school-treat.  Every  hedge  and  ditch  and  gate  and 
stile  was  in  that  ideal  condition  of  plenary  correctness  which 
denotes  that  a  great  landowner  is  exhibiting  the  beauties  of 
scientific  farming  for  the  behoof  of  his  villagers.  The  sky, 
of  an  intense  blue,  was  a  sea  in  which  large  white  clouds 
sailed  gently  but  capriciously ;  on  the  northern  horizon  a  low 
range  of  smoke  marked  the  sinister  region  of  the  Five 
Towns. 


170  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  Will  you  come  and  help  with  the  bags  and  cups  ?  " 
Henry  Mynors  asked  Anna.  She  was  standing  by  herself, 
watching  Agnes  at  play  with  some  other  girls.  Mynors  had 
evidently  walked  across  to  her  from  the  refreshment  tent, 
which  was  at  the  opposite  extremity  of  the  field.  In  her 
eyes  he  was  once  more  the  exemplar  of  style.  His  suit  of 
grey  flannel,  his  white  straw  hat,  became  him  to  admiration. 
He  stood  at  ease  with  his  hands  in  his  coat-pockets,  and 
smiled  contentedly. 

"  After  all,"  he  said,  "  the  tea  is  the  principal  thing,  and, 
although  it  wants  two  hours  to  tea-time  yet,  it's  as  well  to 
be  beforehand." 

"  I  should  like  something  to  do,"  Anna  replied. 

"  How  are  you  ?  "  he  said  familiarly,  after  this  abrupt 
opening,  and  then  shook  hands.  They  traversed  the  field 
together,  with  many  deviations  to  avoid  trespassing  upon 
areas  of  play. 

The  flapping  refreshment-tent  seemed  to  be  full  of  piles 
of  baskets  and  piles  of  bags  and  piles  of  cups,  which  the 
contractor  had  brought  in  a  waggon.  Some  teachers  were 
already  beginning  to  put  the  paper  bags  into  the  baskets ; 
each  bag  contained  bread-and-butter,  currant  ca'ke,  an 
Eccles-cake,  and  a  Bath-bun.  At  the  far  end  of  the  tent 
Beatrice  Sutton  was  arranging  her  dainties  on  a  small  tres- 
tle-table. 

"  Come  along  quick,  Anna,"  she  exclaimed,"  and  taste  my 
tarts,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  them.  I  do  hope  the 
good  people  will  enjoy  them."  And  then,  turning  to  My- 
nors, "  Hello !  Are  you  seeing  after  the  bags  and  things  ? 


THE  TREAT  171 

I  thought  that  was  always  William  Price's  favourite 
job!" 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Mynors.  "  But,  unfortunately,  he  isn't 
here  to-day." 

"  How's  that,  pray  ?  I  never  knew  him  miss  a  school- 
treat  before." 

"  Mr.  Price  told  me  they  couldn't  both  be  away  from  the 
works  just  now.  Very  busy,  I  suppose." 

"  Well,  William  would  have  been  more  use  than  his  father, 
anyhow." 

"  Hush,  hush !  "  Mynors  murmured  with  a  subdued  laugh. 

Beatrice  was  in  one  of  her  "  downright "  moods,  as  she 
herself  called  them. 

Mynors'  arrangements  for  the  prompt  distribution  of  tea 
at  the  appointed  hour  were  very  minute,  and  involved  a 
considerable  amount  of  back-bending  and  manual  labour. 
But,  though  they  were  enlivened  by  frequent  intervals  of 
gossip,  and  by  excursions  into  the  field  to  observe  this  and 
that  amusing  sight,  all  was  finished  half  an  hour  before 
time. 

"  I  will  go  and  warn  Mr.  Price,"  said  Mynors.  "  He  is 
quite  capable  of  forgetting  the  clock."  Mynors  left  the 
tent,  and  proceeded  to  the  scene  of  an  athletic  meeting,  at 
which  Titus  Price,  in  shirt-sleeves,  was  distributing  prizes 
of  sixpences  and  pennies.  The  famous  three-legged  race  had 
just  been  run.  Anna  followed  at  a  saunter,  and  shortly 
afterwards  Beatrice  overtook  her. 

"  The  great  Titus  looks  better  than  he  did  when  he  came 
on  the  field,"  Beatrice  remarked.  And  indeed  the  superin- 


172  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

tendent  had  put  on  quite  a  merry  appearance — flushed,  ex- 
cited, and  jocular  in  his  elephantine  way — it  seemed  as  if 
he  had  not  a  care  in  the  world.  The  boys  crowded  appre- 
ciatively round  him.  But  this  was  his  last  hour  of  joy. 

"  Why !  Willie  Price  is  here,"  Anna  exclaimed,  perceiv- 
ing William  in  the  fringe  of  the  crowd.  The  lanky  fellow 
stood  hesitatingly,  his  left  hand  busy  with  his  moustache. 

"  So  he  is,"  said  Beatrice.  "  I  wonder  what  that 
means." 

Titus  had  not  observed  the  newcomer,  but  Henry  Mynors 
saw  William,  and  exchanged  a  few  words  with  him.  Then 
Mr.  Mynors  advanced  into  the  crowd  and  spoke  to  Mr.  Price, 
who  glanced  quickly  round  at  his  son.  The  girls,  at  a  dis- 
tance of  forty  yards,  could  discern  the  swift  change  in  the 
man's  demeanour.  In  a  second  he  had  reverted  to  the  de- 
plorable Titus  of  three  hours  ago.  He  elbowed  his  way 
roughly  to  William,  getting  into  his  coat  as  he  went.  The 
pair  talked,  William  glanced  at  his  watch,  and  in  another 
moment  they  were  leaving  the  field.  Henry  Mynors  had  to 
finish  the  prize  distribution.  So  much  Anna  and  Beatrice 
plainly  saw.  Others,  too,  had  not  been  blind  to  this  sudden 
and  dramatic  departure.  It  aroused  universal  comment 
among  the  teachers. 

"  Something  must  be  wrong  at  Price's  works,"  Beatrice 
said,  "  and  Willie  has  had  to  fetch  his  papa."  This  was 
the  conclusion  of  all  the  gossips.  Beatrice  added :  "  Dad 
has  mentioned  Price's  several  times  lately,  now  I  think  of  it." 

Anna  grew  extremely  self-conscious  and  uncomfortable. 
She  felt  as  though  all  were  saying  of  her :  "  There  goes  the 


THE  TREAT  173 

oppressor  of  the  poor !  "  She  was  fairly  sure,  however,  that 
her  father  was  not  responsible  for  this  particular  incident. 
There  must,  then,  be  other  implacable  creditors.  She  had 
been  thoroughly  enjoying  the  afternoon,  but  now  her  pleas- 
ure ceased. 

The  treat  ended  disastrously.  In  the  middle  of  the  chil- 
dren's meal,  while  yet  the  enormous  double-handled  tea-cans 
were  being  carried  up  and  down  the  thirsty  rows,  and  the 
boys  were  causing  their  bags  to  explode  with  appalling 
detonations,  it  began  to  rain  sharply.  The  fickle  sun  with- 
drew his  splendour  from  the  toilettes,  and  was  seen  no  more 
for  a  week  afterwards.  "  It's  come  at  last,"  ejaculated  My- 
nors,  who  had  watched  the  sky  with  anxiety  for  an  hour 
previously.  He  mobilised  the  children  and  ranked  them 
under  a  row  of  elms.  The  teachers,  running  to  the  tent  for 
their  own  tea,  said  to  one  another  that  the  shower  could  only 
be  a  brief  one.  The  wish  was  father  to  the  thought,  for  they 
were  a  little  ashamed  to  be  under  cover  while  their  charges 
precariously  sheltered  beneath  dripping  trees — yet  there 
was  nothing  else  to  be  done ;  the  men  took  turns  in  the  rain 
to  keep  the  children  in  their  places.  The  sky  was  com- 
pletely overcast.  "  It's  set  in  for  a  wet  evening,  and  so  we 
may  as  well  make  the  best  of  it,"  Beatrice  said  grimly,  and 
she  sent  the  landau  home  empty.  She  was  right.  A  forlorn 
and  disgusted  snake  of  a  procession  crawled  through  pud- 
dles to  the  station.  The  platform  resounded  with  sneezes. 
None  but  a  dressmaker  could  have  discovered  a  silver  lining 
to  that  black  and  all-pervading  cloud  which  had  ruined  so 
many  dozens  of  fair  costumes.  Anna,  melancholy  and  taci- 


174  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

turn,  exerted  herself  to  minimise  the  discomfort  of  her 
scholars.  A  word  from  Mynors  would  have  been  balm  to 
her ;  but  Mynors,  the  general  of  a  routed  army,  was  parley- 
ing by  telephone  with  the  traffic-manager  of  the  railway 
for  the  expediting  of  the  special  train. 


X:  THE  ISLE 

BOUT  this  time  Anna  was  not  seeing  very  much  of 
Henry  Mynors.  At  twenty  a  man  is  rash  in  love,  and 
"again,  perhaps,  at  fifty;  a  man  of  middle-age  enam- 
oured of  a  young  girl  is  capable  of  sublime  follies.  But  the 
man  of  thirty  who  loves  for  the  first  time  is  usually  the  em- 
bodiment of  cautious  discretion.  He  does  not  fall  in  love 
with  a  violent  descent,  but  rather  lets  himself  gently  down, 
continually  testing  the  rope.  His  social  value,  especially 
if  he  have  achieved  worldly  success,  is  at  its  highest,  and, 
without  conceit,  he  is  aware  of  it.  He  has  lost  many  illu- 
sions concerning  women ;  he  has  seen  more  than  one  friend 
wrecked  in  the  sea  of  foolish  marriage;  he  knows  the  joys 
of  a  bachelor's  freedom,  without  having  wearied  of  them; 
he  perceives  risks  where  the  youth  perceives  only  ecstasy, 
and  the  oldster  only  a  blissful  release  from  solitude.  In- 
stead of  searching,  he  is  sought  for;  accordingly  he  is 
selfish  and  exacting.  All  these  things  combine  to  tranquil- 
lize passion  at  thirty.  Mynors  was  in  love  with  Anna,  and 
his  love  had  its  ardent  moments;  but  in  the  main  it  was  a 
temperate  affection,  an  affection  that  walked  circumspectly, 
with  its  eyes  open,  careful  of  its  dignity,  too  proud  to  seem 
in  a  hurry ;  if,  by  impulse,  it  chanced  now  and  then  to  leap 
forward,  the  involuntary  movement  was  mastered  and 
checked.  Mynors  called  at  Manor  Terrace  once  a  week, 
never  on  the  same  day  of  the  week,  not  without  discussing 

175 


176  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

business  with  the  miser.  Occasionally  he  accompanied  Anna 
from  school  or  chapel.  Such  methods  were  precisely  to 
Anna's  taste.  Like  him,  she  loved  prudence  and  decorum, 
preferring  to  make  haste  slowly.  Since  the  Revival  they 
had  only  once  talked  together  intimately ;  on  that  sole  oc- 
casion Henry  had  suggested  to  her  that  she  might  care  to 
join  Mrs.  Sutton's  class,  which  met  on  Monday  nights;  she 
accepted  the  hint  with  pleasure,  and  found  a  well  of  spirit- 
ual inspiration  in  Mrs.  Sutton's  modest  and  simple,  yet  fer- 
vent, homilies.  Mynors  was  not  guilty  of  blowing  both  hot 
and  cold.  She  was  sure  of  him.  She  waited  calmly  for 
events,  existing,  as  her  habit  was,  in  the  future. 

The  future,  then,  meant  the  Isle  of  Man.  Anna  dreamed 
of  an  enchanted  isle  and  hours  of  unimaginable  rapture. 
For  a  whole  week  after  Mrs.  Sutton  had  won  Ephraim's 
consent,  her  vision  never  stooped  to  practical  details.  Then 
Beatrice  called  to  see  her ;  it  was  the  morning  after  the  treat, 
and  Anna  was  brushing  her  muddy  frock ;  she  wore  a  large 
white  apron,  and  held  a  clothes-brush  in  her  hand  as  she 
opened  the  door. 

"  You're  busy  ?  "  said  Beatrice. 

"  Yes,"  said  Anna,  "  but  come  in.  Come  into  the  kitchen 
— do  you  mind  ?  " 

Beatrice  was  covered  from  neck  to  heel  with  a  long  mack- 
intosh, which  she  threw  off  when  entering  the  kitchen. 

"  Anyone  else  in  the  house?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Anna,  smiling,  as  Beatrice  seated  herself,  with 
a  sigh  of  content,  on  the  table. 

"  Well,  let's  talk,  then."    Beatrice  drew  from  her  pocket 


THE    ISLE  177 

the  indispensable  chocolates  and  offered  them  to  Anna.  "  I 
say,  wasn't  last  night  perfectly  awful?  Henry  got  wet 
through  in  the  end,  and  mother  made  him  stop  at  our  house, 
as  he  was  at  the  trouble  to  take  me  home.  Did  you  see  him 
go  down  this  morning?  " 

"  No ;  why  ?  "  said  Anna  stiffly. 

"  Oh — no  reason.  Only  I  thought  perhaps  you  did.  I 
simply  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  that  you're  coming  with 
us  to  the  Isle  of  Man  ;  we  shall  have  rare  fun.  We  go  every 
year,  you  know — to  Port  Erin,  a  lovely  little  fishing  village. 
All  the  fishermen  know  us  there.  Last  year  Henry  hired  a 
yacht  for  the  fortnight,  and  we  all  went  mackerel-fishing, 
every  day;  except  sometimes  pa.  Now  and  then  pa  had  a 
tendency  to  go  fiddling  in  caves  and  things.  I  do  hope  it 
will  be  fine  weather  again  by  then,  don't  you?  " 

"  I  am  looking  forward  to  it,  I  can  tell  you,"  Anna  said. 
"  What  day  are  we  supposed  to  start  ?  " 

"  Saturday  week." 

"  So  soon  ?  "  Anna  was  surprised  at  the  proximity  of  the 
event. 

"  Yes ;  and  quite  late  enough,  too.  We  should  start 
earlier,  only  the  dad  always  makes  out  he  can't.  Men  al- 
ways pretend  to  be  so  frightfully  busy,  and  I  believe  it's 
all  put  on."  Beatrice  continued  to  chat  about  the  holiday, 
and  then  of  a  sudden  she  asked :  "  What  are  you  going  to 
wear?  " 

"  Wear ! "  Anna  repeated ;  and  then  added,  with  hesita- 
tion :  "  I  suppose  one  will  want  some  new  clothes  ?  " 

"  Well,  just  a  few !    Now  let  me  advise  you.    Take  a  blue 


178  ANNA  OF  THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

serge  skirt.  Sea-water  won't  harm  it,  and  if  it's  dark 
enough  it  will  look  well  to  any  mortal  blouse.  Secondly, 
you  can't  have  too  many  blouses;  they're  always  useful  at 
the  seaside.  Plain  straw-hats  are  my  tip.  A  coat  for 
nights,  and  thick  boots.  There !  Of  course  no  one  ever 
dresses  at  Port  Erin.  It  isn't  like  Llandudno,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  You  don't  have  to  meet  your  young  man  on 
the  pier,  because  there  isn't  a  pier." 

There  was  a  pause.  Anna  did  not  know  what  to  say. 
At  length  she  ventured :  "  I'm  not  much  for  clothes,  as  I 
dare  say  you've  noticed." 

"  I  think  you  always  look  nice,  my  dear,"  Beatrice  re- 
sponded. Nothing  was  said  as  to  Anna's  wealth,  no  refer- 
ence made  as  to  the  discrepancy  between  that  and  the  style 
of  her  garments.  By  a  fiction,  there  was  supposed  to  be  no 
discrepancy. 

"  Do  you  make  your  own  frocks  ? "  Beatrice  asked, 
later. 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  you  know  I  thought  you  did.  But  they  do  you 
great  credit.  There's  few  people  can  make  a  plain  frock 
look  decent." 

This  conversation  brought  Anna  with  a  shock  to  the  level 
of  the  earth.  She  perceived — only  too  well — a  point  which 
she  had  not  hitherto  fairly  faced  in  her  idyllic  meditations : 
that  her  father  was  still  a  factor  in  the  case.  Since  Mrs. 
Sutton's  visit  both  Anna  and  the  miser  avoided  the  subject 
of  the  holiday.  "  You  can't  have  too  many  blouses."  Did 
Beatrice,  then,  have  blouses  by  the  dozen?  A  coat,  a  serge 


THE    ISLE  179 

skirt,  straw  hats  (how  many?) — the  catalogue  frightened 
her.  She  began  to  suspect  that  she  would  not  be  able  to 
go  to  the  Isle  of  Man. 

"  About  me  going  with  Suttons  to  the  Isle  of  Man  ?  " 
she  accosted  her  father,  in  the  afternoon,  outwardly  calm, 
but  with  secret  trembling. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  exclaimed  savagely. 

"  I  shall  want  some  money — a  little."  She  would  have 
given  much  not  to  have  added  that  "  little,"  but  it  came  out 
of  itself. 

"  It's  a  waste  o'  time  and  money — that's  what  I  call  it. 
I  can't  think  why  Suttons  asked  ye.  Ye  aren't  ill,  are  ye?  " 
His  savagery  changed  to  sullenness. 

"  No,  father ;  but  as  it's  arranged,  I  suppose  I  shall  have 
to  go." 

"  Well,  I'm  none  so  set  up  with  the  idea  mysen." 

"  Sha'n't  you  be  all  right  with  Agnes  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  7  shall  be  all  right.  /  don't  want  much.  7've 
no  fads  and  fal-lals.  How  long  art  going  to  be  away?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Didn't  Mrs.  Sutton  tell  you?  You  ar- 
ranged it." 

"  That  I  didna'.    Her  said  nowt  to  me." 

"  Well,  anyhow  I  shall  want  some  clothes." 

"What  for?    Art  naked?" 

"  I  must  have  some  money."  Her  voice  shook.  She  was 
getting  near  tears. 

"  Well,  thou's  gotten  thy  own  money,  hast  na'  ?  " 

"  All  I  want  is  that  you  shall  let  me  have  some  of  my  own 
money.  There's  forty  odd  pounds  now  in  the  bank." 


180  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  Oh !  "  he  repeated,  sneering,  "  all  ye  want  is  as  I  shall 
let  thee  have  some  o*  thy  own  money.  And  there's  forty  odd 
pound  i' the  bank.  Oh!" 

"  Will  you  give  me  my  cheque-book  out  of  the  bureau  ? 
And  I'll  draw  a  cheque ;  I  know  how  to."  She  had  conquered 
the  instinct  to  cry,  and  unwillingly  her  tones  became  some- 
what peremptory.  Ephraim  seized  the  chance. 

"  No.  I  won't  give  ye  the  cheque-book  out  o'  th'  bureau," 
he  said  flatly.  "  And  I'll  thank  ye  for  less  sauce." 

That  finished  the  episode.  Proudly  she  took  an  oath  with 
herself  not  to  re-open  the  question,  and  resolved  to  write  a 
note  to  Mrs.  Sutton,  saying  that  on  consideration  she  found 
it  impossible  to  go  to  the  Isle  of  Man. 

The  next  morning  there  came  to  Anna  a  letter  from  the 
secretary  of  a  limited  company,  enclosing  a  post-office  order 
for  ten  pounds.  Some  weeks  previously  her  father  had  dis- 
covered an  error  of  that  amount  in  the  deduction  of  income- 
tax  from  the  dividend  paid  by  this  company,  and  had  in- 
structed Anna  to  demand  the  sum.  She  had  obeyed,  and 
then  forgotten  the  affair.  Here  was  the  answer.  Desperate 
at  the  thought  of  missing  the  holiday,  she  cashed  the  order, 
bought  and  made  her  clothes  in  secret,  and  then,  two  days 
before  the  arranged  date  for  departure,  told  her  father  what 
she  had  done.  He  was  enraged ;  but  since  his  anger  was  too 
illogical  to  be  rendered  effectively  coherent  in  words,  he  had 
the  wit  to  keep  silence.  With  bitterness  Anna  reflected  that 
she  owed  her  holiday  to  the  merest  accident — for  if  the  re- 
mittance had  arrived  a  little  earlier  or  a  little  later,  or  in 
the  form  of  a  cheque,  she  could  not  have  utilised  it. 


THE    ISLE  181 

It  was  an  incredible  day,  the  following  Saturday,  a  warm 
and  benign  day  of  earliest  autumn.  The  Suttons,  in  a 
hired  cab,  called  for  Anna  at  half-past  eight,  on  the  way  to 
the  main-line  station  at  Shawport.  Anna's  tin  box  was  flung 
on  to  the  roof  of  the  cab  amid  the  trunks  and  portmanteaux 
already  there. 

"  Why  should  not  Agnes  ride  with  us  to  the  station  ?  " 
Beatrice  suggested. 

"  Nay,  nay ;  there's  no  room,"  said  Tellwright,  who  stood 
at  the  door,  impelled  by  an  unacknowledged  awe  of  Mrs. 
Sutton  thus  to  give  official  sanction  to  Anna's  departure. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Mrs.  Sutton  exclaimed.  "  Let  the  little 
thing  come,  Mr.  Tellwright." 

Agnes,  far  more  excited  than  any  of  the  rest,  seized  her 
straw  hat,  and  slipping  the  elastic  under  her  small  chin, 
sprang  into  the  cab,  and  found  a  haven  between  Mr.  Sutton's 
short,  fat  legs.  The  driver  drew  his  whip  smartly  across 
the  aged  neck  of  the  cream  mare.  They  were  off.  What 
a  rumbling,  jolting,  delicious  journey,  down  the  first  hill, 
up  Duck  Bank,  through  the  market-place,  and  down  the 
steep  declivity  of  Oldcastle  Street !  Silent  and  shy,  Agnes 
smiled  ecstatically  at  the  others.  Anna  answered  remarks 
in  a  dream.  She  was  conscious  only  of  present  happiness 
and  happy  expectation.  All  bitterness  had  disappeared. 
At  least  thirty  thousand  Bursley  folk  were  not  going  to  the 
Isle  of  Man  that  day — their  preoccupied  and  cheerless  faces 
swam  in  a  continuous  stream  past  the  cab  window — and 
Anna  sympathised  with  every  unit  of  them.  Her  spirit 
overflowed  with  universal  compassion.  What  haste  and  ex- 


182  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

quisite  confusion  at  the  station !  The  train  was  signalled, 
and  the  porter,  crossing  the  line  with  the  luggage,  ran  his 
truck  perilously  under  the  very  buffers  of  the  incoming 
engine.  Mynors  was  awaiting  them,  admirably  attired  as 
a  tourist.  He  had  got  the  tickets,  and  secured  a  private 
compartment  in  the  through-coach  for  Liverpool;  and  he 
found  time  to  arrange  with  the  cabman  to  drive  Agnes  home 
on  the  box-seat.  Certainly  there  was  none  like  Mynors. 
From  the  footboard  of  the  carriage  Anna  bent  down  to 
kiss  Agnes.  The  child  had  been  laughing  and  chattering. 
Suddenly,  as  Anna's  lips  touched  hers,  she  burst  into  tears, 
sobbed  passionately  as  though  overtaken  by  some  terrible 
and  unexpected  misfortune.  Tears  stood  also  in  Anna's 
eyes.  The  sisters  had  never  been  parted  before. 

"  Poor  little  thing !  "  Mrs.  Sutton  murmured ;  and  Bea- 
trice told  her  father  to  give  Agnes  a  shilling  to  buy  chocor 
lates  at  Stevenson's  in  St.  Luke's  Square,  that  being 
the  best  shop.  The  shilling  fell  between  the  footboard  and 
the  platform.  A  scream  from  Beatrice !  The  attendant 
porter  promised  to  rescue  the  shilling  in  due  course.  The 
engine  whistled,  the  silver-mounted  guard  asserted  his  au- 
thority, Mynors  leaped  in,  and  amid  laughter  and  tears  the 
brief  and  unique  joy  of  Anna's  life  began. 

In  a  moment,  so  it  seemed,  the  train  was  thundering 
through  the  mile  of  solid  rock  which  ends  at  Lime  Street 
Station,  Liverpool.  Thenceforward,  till  she  fell  asleep  that 
night,  Anna  existed  in  a  state  of  blissful  bewilderment, 
stupefied  by  an  overdose  of  novel  and  wondrous  sensations. 
They  lunched  in  amazing  magnificence  at  the  Bear's  Paw, 


THE    ISLE  183 

and  then  walked  through  the  crowded  and  prodigious  streets 
to  Prince's  landing-stage.  The  luggage  had  disappeared  by 
some  mysterious  agency — Mynors  said  that  they  would  find 
it  safe  at  Douglas ;  but  Anna  could  not  banish  the  fear  that 
her  tin  box  had  gone  forever. 

The  great,  wavy  river,  churned  by  thousands  of  keels; 
the  monstrous  steamer — the  "  Mona's  Isle  " — whose  side 
rose  like  solid  wall  out  of  the  water ;  the  vistas  of  its  decks ; 
its  vast  saloons,  story  under  story,  solid  and  palatial  (could 
all  this  float  ?  )  ;  its  high  bridge ;  its  hawsers  as  thick  as  trees ; 
its  funnels  like  sloping  towers;  the  multitudes  of  passen- 
gers ;  the  whistles,  hoots,  cries ;  the  far-stretching  panorama 
of  wharves  and  docks ;  the  squat  ferry-craft  carrying  horses 
and  carts,  and  no  one  looking  twice  at  the  feat — it  was  all 
too  much,  too  astonishing,  too  lovely.  She  had  not  guessed 
at  this. 

"  They  call  Liverpool  the  slum  of  Europe,"  said  My- 
nors. 

"  How  can  you !  "  she  exclaimed,  shocked. 

Beatrice,  seeing  her  radiant  and  rapt  face,  walked  to  and 
fro  with  Anna,  proud  of  the  effect  produced  on  her  friend's 
inexperience  by  these  sights.  One  might  have  thought  that 
Beatrice  had  built  Liverpool  and  created  its  trade  by  her 
own  efforts. 

Suddenly  the  landing-stage  and  all  the  people  on  it  moved 
away  bodily  from  the  ship ;  there  was  green  water  between ; 
a  tremor  like  that  of  an  earthquake  ran  along  the  deck; 
handkerchiefs  were  waved.  The  voyage  had  commenced. 
Mynors  found  chairs  for  all  the  Suttons,  and  tucked  them 


184  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE   TOWNS 

up  on  the  lee-side  of  a  deck-house ;  but  Anna  did  not  stir. 
They  passed  New  Brighton,  Seaforth,  and  the  Crosby  and 
Formby  lightships. 

"  Come  and  view  the  ship,"  said  Mynors,  at  her  side. 
"  Suppose  we  go  round  and  inspect  things  a  bit?  " 

"  It's  a  very  big  one,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Pretty  big,"  he  said ;  "  of  course  not  as  big  as  the  At- 
lantic liners — I  wonder  we  didn't  meet  one  in  the  river — 
but  still  pretty  big.  Three  hundred  and  twenty  feet  over 
all.  I  sailed  on  her  last  year  on  her  maiden  voyage.  She 
was  packed,  and  the  weather  very  bad." 

"  Will  it  be  rough  to-day?  "  Anna  inquired  timidly. 

"  Not  if  it  keeps  like  this,"  he  laughed.  "  You  don't 
feel  queer,  do  you?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  It's  as  firm  as  a  house.  No  one  could  be  ill 
with  this." 

"  Couldn't  they  ?  "  he  exclaimed.     "  Beatrice  could  be." 

They  descended  into  the  ship,  and  he  explained  all  its  in- 
ternal economy,  with  a  knowledge  that  seemed  to  her  ency- 
clopaedic. They  stayed  a  long  time  watching  the  engines, 
so  Titanic,  ruthless,  and  deliberate ;  even  the  smell  of  the  oil 
was  pleasant  to  Anna.  When  they  came  on  deck  again  the 
ship  was  at  sea.  For  the  first  time  Anna  beheld  the  ocean. 
A  strong  breeze  blew  from  prow  to  stern,  yet  the  sea  was 
absolutely  calm,  the  unruffled  mirror  of  effulgent  sunlight. 
The  steamer  moved  along  on  the  waters,  exultantly,  leaving 
behind  it  an  endless  track  of  white  froth  in  the  green,  and 
the  shadow  of  its  smoke.  The  sun,  the  salt  breeze,  the  living 
water,  the  proud  gaiety  of  the  ship,  produced  a  feeling  of 


THE    ISLE  185 

intense,  inexplicable  joy,  a  profound  satisfaction  with  the 
present,  and  a  negligence  of  past  and  future.  To  exist 
was  enough,  then.  As  Anna  and  Henry  leaned  over  the 
starboard  quarter  and  watched  the  torrent  of  foam  rush 
madly  and  ceaselessly  from  under  the  paddle-box  to  be 
swallowed  up  in  the  white  wake,  the  spectacle  of  the  wild  tor- 
rent almost  hypnotised  them,  destroying  thought  and  reason, 
and  all  sense  of  their  relation  to  other  things.  With  diffi- 
culty Anna  raised  her  eyes,  and  perceived  the  dim  receding 
line  of  the  Lancashire  coast. 

"  Shall  we  get  quite  out  of  sight  of  land?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  for  a  little  while,  about  half  an  hour  or  so.  Just 
as  much  out  of  sight  of  land  as  if  we  were  in  the  middle  of 
the  Atlantic." 

"  I  can  scarcely  believe  it." 

"Believe  what?" 

"  Oh !  The  idea  of  that — of  being  out  of  sight  of  land 
— nothing  but  sea." 

When  at  last  it  occurred  to  them  to  reconnoitre  the  Sut- 
tons,  they  found  all  three  still  in  their  deck-chairs,  en- 
wrapped and  languid.  Mr.  Sutton  and  Beatrice  were  ap- 
parently dozing.  This  part  of  the  deck  was  occupied  by 
somnolent,  basking  figures. 

"  Don't  wake  them,"  Mrs.  Sutton  enjoined,  whispering 
out  of  her  hood.  Anna  glanced  curiously  at  Beatrice's  yel- 
low face. 

"  Go  away,  do,"  Beatrice  exclaimed,  opening  her  eyes 
and  shutting  them  again,  wearily. 

So  they  went  away,  and  discovered  two  empty  deck- 


186  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

chairs  on  the  fore-deck.  Anna  was  innocently  vain  of  her 
immunity  from  malaise.  Mynors  appeared  to  appoint  him- 
self little  errands  about  the  deck,  returning  frequently  to  his 
chair. 

"  Look  over  there.    Can  you  see  anything?  " 

Anna  ran  to  the  rail,  with  the  infantile  idea  of  getting 
nearer,  and  Mynors  followed,  laughing.  What  looked  like 
a  small  slate-coloured  cloud  lay  on  the  horizon. 

"  I  seem  to  see  something,"  she  said. 

"  That  is  the  Isle  of  Man." 

By  insensible  gradations  the  contours  of  the  land  grew 
clearer  in  the  afternoon  haze. 

"  How  far  are  we  off  now?  " 

"  Perhaps  twenty  miles." 

Twenty  miles  of  uninterrupted  flatness,  and  the  ship 
steadily  invading  that  separating  solitude,  yard  by  yard, 
furlong  by  furlong!  The  conception  awed  her.  There,  a 
morsel  in  the  waste  of  the  deep,  a  speck  under  the  infinite 
sunlight,  lay  the  island,  mysterious,  enticing,  enchanted,  a 
glinting  jewel  on  the  sea's  bosom,  a  remote  entity  fraught 
with  strange  secrets.  It  was  all  unspeakable. 

"  Anna,  you  have  covered  yourself  with  glory,"  said  Mrs. 
Sutton,  when  they  were  in  the  diminutive  and  absurd  train 
which  by  breathless  plunges  annihilates  the  sixteen  miles 
between  Douglas  and  Port  Erin  in  sixty-five  minutes. 

"  Have  I?  "  she  answered.     "  How?  " 

"  By  not  being  ill." 

"  That's  always  the  beginner's  luck,"  said  Beatrice,  pale 


THE    ISLE  187 

and  dishevelled.  They  all  relapsed  into  the  silence  of  fa- 
tigue. It  was  growing  dusk  when  the  train  stopped  at  the 
tiny  terminus.  The  station  was  a  hive  of  bustling  activity, 
the  arrival  of  this  train  being  the  daily  event  at  that  end  of 
the  world.  Mynors  and  the  Suttons  were  greeted  familiarly 
by  several  sailors,  and  one  of  these,  Tom  Kelly,  a  tall, 
middle-aged  man,  with  grey  beard,  small  grey  eyes,  a 
wrinkled  skin  of  red  mahogany,  and  an  enormous  fist,  was 
introduced  to  Anna.  He  raised  his  cap,  and  shook  hands. 
She  was  touched  by  the  sad,  kind  look  on  his  face,  the  mel- 
ancholy impress  of  the  sea.  Then  they  drove  to  their  lodg- 
ing, and  here  again  the  party  was  welcomed  as  being  old  and 
tried  friends.  A  fire  was  burning  in  the  parlour.  Throw- 
ing herself  down  in  front  of  it,  Mrs.  Sutton  breathed,  "  At 
last !  Oh,  for  some  tea."  Through  the  window,  Anna  had 
a  glimpse  of  a  deeply  indented  bay  at  the  foot  of  cliffs  below 
them,  with  a  bold  headland  to  the  right.  Fishing  vessels 
with  flat  red  sails  seemed  to  hang  undecided  just  outside 
the  bay.  From  cottage  chimneys  beneath  the  road  blue 
smoke  softly  ascended. 

All  went  early  to  bed,  for  the  weariness  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Sutton  seemed  to  communicate  itself  to  the  three  young 
people,  who  might  otherwise  have  gone  forth  into  the  vil- 
lage in  search  of  adventures.  Anna  and  Beatrice  shared  a 
room.  Each  inspected  the  other's  clothes,  and  Beatrice  made 
Anna  try  on  the  new  serge  skirt.  Through  the  thin  wall 
came  the  sound  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sutton  talking,  a  high 
voice,  then  a  bass  reply,  in  continual  alternation.  Bea- 
trice said  that  these  two  always  discussed  the  day's  doings 


188  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

in  such  manner.  In  a  few  moments  Beatrice  was  snoring; 
she  had  the  subdued,  but  steady  and  serious,  snore  charac- 
teristic of  some  muscular  men.  Anna  felt  no  inclination  to 
sleep.  She  lived  again  hour  by  hour  through  the  day,  and 
beneath  Beatrice's  snore  her  ear  caught  the  undertone  of 
the  sea. 

The  next  morning  was  as  lovely  as  the  last.  It  was  Sun- 
day, and  every  activity  of  the  village  was  stilled.  Sea  and 
land  were  equally  folded  in  a  sunlit  calm.  During  breakfast 
— a  meal  abundant  in  fresh  herrings,  fresh  eggs,  and  fresh 
rolls,  eaten  with  the  window  wide  open — Anna  was  puzzled 
by  the  singular  amenity  of  her  friends  to  one  another  and 
to  her.  They  were  as  polite  as  though  they  had  been 
strangers ;  they  chatted  amiably,  were  full  of  good  will,  and 
as  anxious  to  give  happiness  as  to  enjoy  it.  She  thought  at 
first,  so  unusual  was  it  to  her  as  a  feature  of  domestic  pri- 
vacy, that  this  demeanour  was  affected,  or  at  any  rate  a 
somewhat  exaggerated  punctilio  due  to  her  presence;  but 
she  soon  came  to  see  that  she  was  mistaken.  After  break- 
fast Mr.  Sutton  suggested  that  they  should  attend  the  Wes- 
leyan  Chapel  on  the  hill  leading  to  the  Chasms.  Here  they 
met  the  sailors  of  the  night  before,  arrayed  now  in  marvel- 
lous blue  Melton  coats  with  velveteen  collars.  Tom  Kelly 
walked  back  with  them  to  the  beach,  and  showed  them  the 
yacht  "  Fay,"  which  Mynors  had  arranged  to  hire  for  mack- 
erel-fishing; it  lay  on  the  sand,  speckless  in  new  white  paint. 
All  afternoon  they  dozed  on  the  cliffs,  doing  nothing  what- 
ever, for  this  Sunday  was  tacitly  regarded,  not  as  part  of 
the  holiday,  but  as  a  preparation  for  the  holiday ;  all  felt 


THE    ISLE  189 

that  the  holiday,  with  its  proper  exertions  and  appointed 
delights,  would  really  begin  on  Monday  morning. 

"  Let  us  go  for  a  walk,"  said  Mynors,  after  tea,  to  Bea- 
trice and  Anna.  They  stood  at  the  gate  of  the  lodging- 
house.  The  old  people  were  resting  within. 

"  You  two  go,"  Beatrice  replied,  looking  at  Anna.  "  You 
know  I  hate  walking,  Henry.  I'll  stop  with  mother  and 
dad." 

Throughout  the  day  Anna  had  been  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  all  the  Suttons  showed  a  tendency,  slight  but  percept- 
ible, to  treat  Henry  and  herself  as  a  pair  desirous  of  oppor- 
tunities for  being  alone  together.  She  did  not  like  it.  She 
flushed  under  the  passing  glance  with  which  Beatrice  accom- 
panied the  words :  "  You  two  go."  Nevertheless,  when  My- 
nors placidly  remarked :  "  Very  well,"  and  his  eyes  sought 
hers  for  a  consent,  she  could  not  refuse  it.  One  part  of  her 
nature  would  have  preferred  to  find  an  excuse  for  staying 
at  home ;  but  another,  and  a  stronger,  part  insisted  on  seiz- 
ing this  offered  joy. 

They  walked  straight  up  out  of  the  village  towards  the 
high  coast-range  which  stretches,  peak  after  peak,  from 
Port  Erin  to  Peel.  The  stony  and  devious  lanes  wound  about 
the  bleak  hillside,  passing  here  and  there  small,  solitary 
cottages  of  whitewashed  stone,  with  children,  fowls,  and 
dogs  at  the  doors,  all  embowered  in  huge  fuchsia  trees. 
Presently  they  had  surmounted  the  limit  of  habitation  and 
were  on  the  naked  flank  of  Bradda,  following  a  narrow 
track  which  crept  upwards  amid  short  mossy  turf  of  the 
most  vivid  green.  Nothing  seemed  to  flourish  on  this  ex- 


190  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

posed  height  except  bracken,  sheep,  and  boulders  that,  from 
a  distance,  resembled  sheep;  there  was  no  tree,  scarcely  a 
shrub;  the  immense  contours,  stark,  grim,  and  unrelieved, 
rose  in  melancholy  and  defiant  majesty  against  the  sky:  the 
hand  of  man  could  coax  no  harvest  from  these  smooth,  but 
obdurate,  slopes;  they  had  never  relented  and  they  would 
never  relent.  The  spirit  was  braced  by  the  thought  that 
here,  to  the  furthest  eternity  of  civilisations  more  and  more 
intricate,  simple  and  strong  souls  would  always  find  solace 
and  repose. 

Mynors  bore  to  the  left  for  a  while,  striking  across  the 
moor  in  the  direction  of  the  sea.  Then  he  said : 

"  Look  down,  now." 

The  little  bay  lay  like  an  oblong  swimming-bath  five 
hundred  feet  below  them.  The  surface  of  the  water  was  like 
glass;  the  strand,  with  its  phalanx  of  boats  drawn  up  in 
Sabbath  tidiness,  glittered  like  marble  in  the  dying  light, 
and  over  this  marble  black  dots  moved  slowly  to  and  fro; 
behind  the  boats  were  the  houses — doll's  houses — each  with 
a  curling  wisp  of  smoke ;  further  away  the  railway  and  the 
high-road  ran  out  in  a  black  and  a  white  line  to  Port  St. 
Mary ;  the  sea,  a  pale  grey,  encompassed  all ;  the  southern 
sky  had  a  faint  sapphire  tinge,  rising  to  delicate  azure. 
The  sight  of  this  haven  at  rest,  shut  in  by  the  restful  sea 
and  by  great  moveless  hills,  a  calm  within  a  calm,  aroused 
profound  emotion. 

"  It's  lovely,"  said  Anna,  as  they  stood  gazing.  Tears 
came  to  her  eyes  and  hung  there.  She  wondered  that 
scenery  should  cause  tears,  felt  ashamed,  and  turned 


THE    ISLE  191 

her  face  so  that  Mynors  should  not  see.  But  he  had 
seen. 

"  Shall  we  go  on  to  the  top?  "  he  suggested,  and  they 
set  their  faces  northwards,  to  climb  still  higher.  At  length 
they  stood  on  the  rocky  summit  of  Bradda,  seven  hundred 
feet  from  the  sea.  The  Hill  of  the  Night  Watch  lifted 
above  them  to  the  north,  but  on  east,  south,  and  west,  the 
prospect  was  bounded  only  by  the  ocean.  The  coast-line 
was  revealed  for  thirty  miles,  from  Peel  to  Castletown.  Far 
to  the  east  was  Castletown  Bay,  large,  shallow,  and  inhos- 
pitable, its  floor  strewn  with  a  thousand  unseen  wrecks ;  the 
lighthouse  at  Scarlet  Point  flashed  dimly  in  the  dusk ;  thence 
the  beach  curved  nearer  in  an  immense  arc,  without  a  sign 
of  life,  to  the  little  cove  of  Port  St.  Mary,  and  jutted  out 
again  into  a  tongue  of  land,  at  the  end  of  which  lay  the  Calf 
of  Man,  with  its  single  white  cottage  and  cart-track.  The 
dangerous  Calf  Sound,  where  the  vexed  tide  is  forced  to  run 
nine  hours  one  way  and  three  the  other,  seemed  like  a  grey 
ribbon,  and  the  Chicken  Rock  like  a  tiny  pencil  on  a  vast 
slate.  Port  Erin  was  hidden  under  their  feet.  They  looked 
westward.  The  darkening  sky  was  a  labyrinth  of  purple 
and  crimson  scarves  drawn  pellucid,  as  though  by  the  finger 
of  God,  across  a  sheet  of  pure  saffron.  These  decadent  tints 
of  the  sunset  faded  in  every  direction  to  the  same  soft  azure 
which  filled  the  south,  and  one  star  twinkled  in  the  illimit- 
able field.  Thirty  miles  off,  on  the  horizon,  could  be  dis- 
cerned the  Mourne  Mountains  of  Ireland. 

"  See !  "  Mynors  exclaimed,  touching  her  arm. 

The  huge  disc  of  the  moon  was  rising  in  the  east,  and  as 


192  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

this  mild  lamp  passed  up  the  sky,  the  sense  of  universal 
quiescence  increased.  Lovely,  Anna  had  said.  It  was  the 
loveliest  sight  her  eyes  had  ever  beheld,  a  panorama  of  pure 
beauty  transcending  all  imagined  visions.  It  overwhelmed 
her,  thrilled  her  to  the  heart,  this  revelation  of  the  loveliness 
of  the  world.  Her  thoughts  went  back  to  Hanbridge  and 
Bursley  and  her  life  there ;  and  all  the  remembered  scenes, 
bathed  in  the  glow  of  a  new  ideal,  seemed  to  lose  their  pain. 
It  was  as  if  she  had  never  been  really  unhappy,  as  if  there 
was  no  real  unhappiness  on  the  whole  earth.  She  perceived 
that  the  monotony,  the  austerity,  the  melancholy  of  her  ex- 
istence had  been  sweet  and  beautiful  of  its  kind,  and  she  re- 
called, with  a  sort  of  rapture,  hours  of  companionship  with 
the  beloved  Agnes,  when  her  father  was  equable  and  pacific. 
Nothing  was  ugly  nor  mean.  Beauty  was  everywhere,  in 
everything. 

In  silence  they  began  to  descend,  perforce  walking  quickly 
because  of  the  steep  gradient.  At  the  first  cottage  they  saw 
a  little  girl  in  a  mob-cap,  playing  with  two  kittens. 

"  How  like  Agnes !  "  Mynors  said. 

"  Yes,  I  was  just  thinking  so,"  Anna  answered. 

"  I  thought  of  her  up  on  the  hill,"  he  continued.  "  She 
will  miss  you,  won't  she?  " 

"  I  know  she  cried  herself  to  sleep  last  night.  You 
mightn't  guess  it,  but  she  is  extremely  sensitive." 

"  Not  guess  it?  Why  not?  I  am  sure  she  is.  Do  you 
know — I  am  very  fond  of  your  sister.  She's  a  simply  de- 
lightful child.  And  there's  a  lot  in  her,  too.  She's  so 
quick  and  bright,  and  somehow  like  a  little  woman." 


THE   ISLE  193 

"  She's  exactly  like  a  woman  sometimes,"  Anna  agreed. 
"  Sometimes  I  fancy  she's  a  great  deal  older  than  I  am." 

"  Older  than  any  of  us,"  he  corrected. 

"  I'm  glad  you  like  her,"  Anna  said,  content.  "  She 
thinks  all  the  world  of  you."  And  she  added :  "  My  word, 
wouldn't  she  be  vexed  if  she  knew  I  had  told  you  that !  " 

This  appreciation  of  Agnes  brought  them  into  closer  in- 
timacy, and  they  talked  the  more  easily  of  other  things. 

"  It  will  freeze  to-night,"  Mynors  said ;  and  then,  sud- 
denly looking  at  her  in  the  twilight :  "  You  are  feeling 
chill." 

"  Oh,  no !  "  she  protested. 

"  But  you  are.  Put  this  muffler  round  your  neck."  He 
took  a  muffler  from  his  pocket. 

"  Oh,  no,  really !  You  will  need  it  yourself."  She  drew 
a  little  away  from  him,  as  if  to  avoid  the  muffler. 

"  Please  take  it." 

She  did  so,  and  thanked  him,  tying  it  loosely  and  untidily 
round  her  throat.  That  feeling  of  the  untidiness  of  the 
muffler,  of  its  being  something  strange  to  her  skin,  some- 
thing with  the  rough  virtue  of  masculinity,  which  no  one 
could  detect  in  the  gloom,  was  in  itself  pleasant. 

"  I  wager  Mrs.  Sutton  has  a  good  fire  burning  when  we 
get  in,"  he  said. 

She  thought  with  joyous  anticipation  of  the  warm,  bright 
sitting-room,  the  supper,  and  the  vivacious,  good-natured 
conversation.  Though  the  walk  was  nearly  at  an  end,  other 
delights  were  in  store.  Of  the  holiday,  thirteen  complete 
days  yet  remained,  each  to  be  happy  as  the  one  now  clos- 


194  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

ing.  It  was  an  age !  At  last  they  entered  the  human  cosi- 
ness of  the  village.  As  they  walked  up  the  steps  of  their 
lodging,  and  he  opened  the  door  for  her,  she  quickly  dreAv 
off  the  muffler  and  returned  it  to  him  with  a  word  of  thanks. 

On  Monday  morning,  when  Beatrice  and  Anna  came 
downstairs,  they  found  the  breakfast  odorously  cooling  on 
the  table,  and  nobody  in  the  room. 

"  Where  are  they  all,  I  wonder.  Any  letters  ?  "  Beatrice 
said. 

"  There's  your  mother,  out  on  the  front — and  Mr.  My- 
nors,  too." 

Beatrice  threw  up  the  window,  and  called :  "  Come  along, 
Henry;  come  along,  mother.  Everything's  going  cold." 

"  Is  it?  "  Mynors  cheerfully  replied.  "  Come  out  here, 
both  of  you,  and  begin  the  day  properly  with  a  dose  of 
ozone." 

"  I  loathe  cold  bacon,"  said  Beatrice,  glancing  at  the 
table,  and  they  went  out  into  the  road,  where  Mrs.  Sutton 
kissed  them  with  as  much  fervour  as  if  they  had  arrived  from 
a  long  journey. 

"  You  look  pale,  Anna,"  she  remarked. 

"  Do  I?  "  said  Anna,  "  I  don't  feel  pale." 

"  It's  that  long  walk  last  night,"  Beatrice  put  in. 
"  Henry  always  goes  too  far." 

"  I  don't "  Anna  began ;  but  at  that  moment  Mr. 

Sutton,  lumbering  and  ponderous,  joined  the  party. 

"  Henry,"  he  said,  without  greeting  anyone,  "  hast 
noticed  those  half-finished  houses  down  the  road  yonder  by 
the  *  Falcon  '  ?  I've  been  having  a  chat  with  Kelly,  and  he 


THE    ISLE  195 

tells  me  the  fellow  that  was  building  them  has  gone  bank- 
rupt, and  they're  at  a  standstill.  The  receiver  wants  to 
sell  'em.  In  fact  Kelly  says  they're  going  cheap.  I  believe 
they'd  be  a  good  spec." 

"  Eh,  dear !  "  Mrs.  Button  interrupted  him.  "  Father, 
I  wish  you  would  leave  your  specs  alone  when  you're  on  your 
holiday." 

"  Now,  missis ! "  he  affectionately  protested,  and  con- 
tinued :  "  They're  fairly  well-built,  seemingly,  and  the 
rafters  are  on  the  roof.  Anna,"  he  turned  to  her  quickly, 
as  if  counting  on  her  sympathy,  "  you  must  come  with  me 
and  look  at  'em  after  breakfast.  Happen  they  might  suit 
your  father — or  you.  I  know  your  father's  fond  of  a  good 
spec." 

She  assented  with  a  ready  smile.  This  was  the  beginning 
of  a  fancy  which  the  Alderman  always  afterwards  showed 
for  Anna. 

After  breakfast,  Mrs.  Sutton,  Beatrice,  and  Anna  ar- 
ranged to  go  shopping. 

"  Father — brass,"  Mrs.  Sutton  ejaculated  in  two  mono- 
syllables to  her  husband. 

"  How  much  will  content  ye  ?  "  he  asked  mildly. 

"  Give  me  five  or  ten  pounds  to  go  on  with." 

He  opened  the  left-hand  front  pocket  of  his  trousers — 
a  pocket  which  fastened  with  a  button;  and  leaning  back 
in  the  chair  drew  out  a  fat  purse,  and  passed  it  to  his  wife 
with  a  preoccupied  air.  She  helped  herself,  and  then  Bea- 
trice intercepted  the  purse  and  lightened  it  of  half  a  sov- 
ereign. 


196  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  Pocket-money,"  Beatrice  said ;  "  I'm  ruined." 
The  Alderman's  eyes  requested  Anna  to  observe  how  he 
was  robbed.      At  last  the  purse  was  safely  buttoned  up 
again. 

Mrs.  Sutton's  purchases  of  food  at  the  three  principal 
shops  of  the  village  seemed  startlingly  profuse  to  Anna, 
but  gradually  she  became  accustomed  to  the  scale,  and  to 
the  amazing  habit  of  always  buying  the  very  best  of  every- 
thing, from  beefsteak  to  grapes.  Anna  calculated  that  the 
housekeeping  could  not  cost  less  than  six  pounds  a  week  for 
the  five.  At  Manor  Terrace  three  people  existed  on  a 
pound.  With  her  half-sovereign  Beatrice  bought  a  belt 
and  a  pair  of  sand-shoes,  and  some  cigarettes  for  Henry. 
Mrs.  Sutton  bought  a  pipe  with  a  nickel  cap,  such  as  is  used 
by  sailors.  When  they  returned  to  the  house,  Mr.  Sutton 
and  Henry  were  smoking  in  the  front.  All  five  walked  in 
a  row  down  to  the  harbour,  the  Alderman  giving  an  arm 
each  to  Beatrice  and  Anna.  Near  the  "  Falcon  "  the  pro- 
cession had  to  be  stopped  in  order  to  view  the  unfinished 
houses.  Tom  Kelly  had  a  cabin  partly  excavated  out  of  the 
rock  behind  the  little  quay.  Here  they  found  him  entangled 
amid  nets,  sails,  and  oars.  All  crowded  into  the  cabin  and 
shook  hands  with  its  owner,  who  remarked  with  severity  on 
their  pallid  faces,  and  insisted  that  a  change  of  complexion 
must  be  brought  about.  Mynors  offered  him  his  tobacco- 
pouch,  but  on  seeing  the  light  colour  of  the  tobacco  he  shook 
his  head  and  refused  it,  at  the  same  time  taking  from 
within  his  jersey  a  lump  of  something  that  resembled 
leather. 


THE    ISLE  197 

"  Give  him  this,  Henry,"  Mrs.  Sutton  whispered,  hand- 
ing Mynors  the  pipe  which  she  had  bought. 

"  Mrs.  Sutton  wishes  you  to  accept  this,"  said  Mynors. 

"  Eh,  thank  ye,"  he  exclaimed.  "  There's  a  leddy  that 
knows  my  taste."  He  cut  some  shreds  from  his  plug  with 
a  clasp-knife  and  charged  and  lighted  the  pipe,  filling  the 
cabin  with  asphyxiating  fumes. 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  can  smoke  such  horrid,  nasty 
stuff,"  said  Beatrice,  coughing. 

He  laughed  condescendingly  at  Beatrice's  petulant  man- 
ner. "  That  stuff  of  Henry's  is  boy's  tobacco,"  he  said 
shortly. 

It  was  decided  that  they  should  go  fishing  in  the  "  Fay." 
There  was  a  light  southerly  breeze,  a  cloudy  sky,  and  smooth 
water.  Under  charge  of  young  Tom  Kelly,  a  sheepish  lad 
of  sixteen,  with  his  father's  smile,  they  all  got  into  an  incon- 
ceivably small  dinghy,  loading  it  down  till  it  was  almost 
awash.  Old  Tom  himself  helped  Anna  to  embark,  told  her 
where  to  tread,  and  forced  her  gently  into  a  seat  at  the  stern. 
No  one  else  seemed  to  be  disturbed,  but  Anna  was  in  a  state 
of  desperate  fear.  She  had  never  committed  herself  to  a 
boat  before,  and  the  little  waves  spat  up  against  the  sides  in 
a  most  alarming  way  as  young  Tom  jerked  the  dinghy  along 
with  the  short  sculls.  She  went  white,  and  clung  in  silence 
fiercely  to  the  gunwale.  In  a  few  moments  they  were  tied 
up  to  the  "  Fay,"  which  seemed  very  big  and  safe  in  com- 
parison with  the  dinghy.  They  clambered  on  board,  and 
in  the  deep  well  of  the  two-ton  yacht  Anna  contrived  to  col- 
lect her  wits.  She  was  reassured  by  the  painted  legend  in 


198  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

the  well,  "  Licensed  to  carry  eleven."  Young  Tom  and 
Henry  busied  themselves  with  ropes,  and  suddenly  a  huge 
white  sail  began  to  ascend  the  mast ;  it  flapped  like  thunder 
in  the  gentle  breeze.  Tom  pulled  up  the  anchor,  curling 
the  chain  round  and  round  on  the  forward  deck,  and 
then  Anna  noticed  that,  although  the  wind  was  scarcely 
perceptible,  they  were  gliding  quickly  past  the  embankment. 
Henry  was  at  the  tiller.  The  next  minute  Tom  had  set  the 
jib,  and  by  this  time  the  "  Fay  "  was  approaching  the  break- 
water at  a  great  pace.  There  was  no  rolling  or  pitching, 
but  simply  a  smooth,  swift  progression  over  the  calm  sur- 
face. Anna  thought  it  the  ideal  of  locomotion.  As  soon 
as  they  were  beyond  the  breakwater  and  the  sails  caught 
the  breeze  from  the  Sound,  the  "  Fay  "  lay  over  as  if  shot, 
and  a  little  column  of  green  water  flung  itself  on  the  lee 
coaming  of  the  well.  Anna  screamed  as  she  saw  the  water 
and  felt  the  angle  of  the  floor  suddenly  change,  but  when 
everyone  laughed,  she  laughed  too.  Henry,  noticing  the 
whiteness  of  her  knuckles  as  she  gripped  the  coaming,  ex- 
plained the  disconcerting  phenomena.  Anna  tried  to  be  at 
ease,  but  she  was  not.  She  could  not  for  a  long  time  dismiss 
the  suspicion  that  all  these  people  were  foolishly  Wind  to  a 
peril  which  she  alone  had  the  sagacity  to  perceive. 

They  cruised  about  while  Tom  prepared  the  lines.  The 
short  waves  chopped  cheerfully  against  the  carvel  sides  of 
the  yacht ;  the  clouds  were  breaking  at  a  hundred  points ;  the 
sea  grew  lighter  in  tone ;  gaiety  was  in  the  air ;  no  one  could 
possibly  be  indisposed  in  that  innocuous  weather.  At 
length  the  lines  were  ready,  but  Tom  said  the  yacht  was 


THE    ISLE  199 

making  at  least  a  knot  too  much  for  serious  fishing,  so  Henry 
took  a  reef  in  the  mainsail,  showing  Anna  how  to  tie  the 
short  strings.  The  Alderman,  lying  on  the  fore-deck,  was 
placidly  smoking.  The  lines  were  thrown  out  astern,  and 
Mrs.  Sutton  and  Beatrice  each  took  one.  But  they  had  no 
success;  young  Tom  said  it  was  because  the  sun  had  ap- 
peared. 

"  Caught  anything?  "  Mr.  Sutton  inquired  at  intervals. 
After  a  time  he  said : 

"  Suppose  Anna  and  I  have  a  try  ?  " 

It  was  agreed. 

"  What  must  I  do  ?  "  asked  Anna,  brave  now. 

"  You  just  hold  the  line — so.  And  if  you  feel  a  little 
jerk- jerk,  that's  a  mackerel."  These  were  the  instructions 
of  Beatrice.  Anna  was  becoming  excited.  She  had  not 
held  the  line  ten  seconds  before  she  cried  out : 

"  I've  got  one." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Beatrice.  "  Everyone  thinks  at  first 
that  the  motion  of  the  waves  against  the  line  is  a  fish." 

"  Well,"  said  Henry,  giving  the  tiller  to  young  Tom. 
"  Let's  haul  in  and  see,  anyway."  Before  doing  so  he  held 
the  line  for  a  moment,  testing  it,  and  winked  at  Anna. 
While  Anna  and  Henry  were  hauling  in,  the  Alderman, 
dropping  his  pipe,  began  also  to  haul  in  his  own  line  with 
great  fury. 

"  Got  one,  father?  "  Mrs.  Sutton  asked. 

"Ay!" 

Both  lines  came  in  together,  and  on  each  was  a  pounder. 
Anna  saw-  her  fish  gleam  and  flash  like  silver  in  the  clear 


200  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

water  as  it  neared  the  surface.  Henry  held  the  line  short, 
letting  the  mackerel  plunge  and  jerk,  and  then  seized  and 
unhooked  the  catch. 

"  How  cruel !  "  Anna  cried,  startled  at  the  nearness  of  the 
two  fish  as  they  sprang  about  in  an  old  sugar-box  at  her 
feet.  Young  Tom  laughed  loud  at  her  exclamation. 
"  They  cairn't  feel,  miss,"  he  sniggered.  Anna  wondered 
that  a  mouth  so  soft  and  kind  could  utter  such  heartless 
words. 

In  an  hour  the  united  efforts  of  the  party  had  caught 
nine  mackerel ;  it  was  not  a  multitude,  but  the  sun,  in  per- 
fecting the  weather,  had  spoilt  the  sport.  Anna  had  ceased 
to  commiserate  the  captured  fish.  She  was  obliged,  how- 
ever, to  avert  her  head  when  Tom  cut  some  skin  from  the 
side  of  one  of  the  mackerel  to  provide  fresh  bait ;  this  device 
seemed  to  her  the  extremest  refinement  of  cruelty.  Beatrice 
grew  ominously  silent  and  inert,  and  Mrs.  Sutton  glanced 
first  at  her  daughter  and  then  at  her  husband;  the  latter 
nodded. 

"  We'd  happen  better  be  getting  back,  Henry,"  said  the 
Alderman. 

The  "  Fay  "  swept  home  like  a  bird.  They  were  at  the 
quay,  and  Kelly  was  dragging  them  one  by  one  from  the 
black  dinghy  on  to  what  the  Alderman  called  terra-firma. 
Henry  had  the  fish  on  a  string. 

"  How  many  did  ye  catch,  Miss  Tellwright  ?  "  Kelly 
asked  benevolently. 

"  I  caught  four,"  Anna  replied.  Never  before  had  she 
felt  so  proud,  elated,  and  boisterous.  Never  had  the  blood 


THE   ISLE  201 

so  wildly  danced  in  her  veins.  She  looked  at  her  short  blue 
skirt  which  showed  three  inches  of  ankle,  put  forward  her 
brown-shod  foot  like  a  vain  coquette,  and  darted  a  covert 
look  at  Henry.  When  he  caught  it  she  laughed  instead  of 
blushing. 

"  Ye're  doing  well,"  Tom  Kelly  approved.  "  Ye'll  make 
a  famous  mackerel-fisher." 

Five  of  the  mackerel  were  given  to  young  Tom.  The 
other  four  preceded  a  fowl  in  the  menu  of  dinner.  They 
were  called  Anna's  mackerel,  and  all  the  diners  agreed  that 
better  mackerel  had  never  been  lured  out  of  the  Irish  sea. 

In  the  afternoon  the  Alderman  and  his  wife  slept  as  usual, 
Mr.  Sutton  with  a  bandanna  handkerchief  over  his  face. 
The  rest  went  out  immediately ;  the  invitation  of  the  sun  and 
the  sea  was  far  too  persuasive  to  be  resisted. 

"  I'm  going  to  paint,"  said  Beatrice,  with  a  resolute  mien. 
"  I  want  to  paint  Bradda  Head  frightfully.  I  tried  last 
year,  but  I  got  it  too  dark,  somehow.  I've  improved  since 
then.  What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

"  We'll  come  and  watch  you,"  said  Henry. 

"  Oh,  no,  you  won't.  At  least  you  won't ;  you're  such 
a  critic.  Anna  can,  if  she  likes." 

"  What !     And  me  be  left  all  afternoon  by  myself  ?  " 

"  Well,  suppose  you  go  with  him,  Anna,  just  to  keep 
him  from  being  bored  ?  " 

Anna  hesitated.  Once  more  she  had  the  uncomfortable 
suspicion  that  Mynors  and  herself  were  being  manoeuvred. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Mynors  to  Beatrice.  "  Have  you  de- 
cided absolutely  to  paint?  " 


202  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE   TOWNS 

"  Absolutely."  The  finality  of  the  answer  seemed  to 
have  a  touch  of  resentment. 

"  Then  " — he  turned  to  Anna — "  let's  go  and  get  that 
dinghy  and  row  about  the  bay.  Eh?  " 

She  could  offer  no  rational  objection,  and  they  were  soon 
putting  off  from  the  jetty,  impelled  seaward  by  a  mighty 
push  from  Kelly's  arm.  It  was  very  hot.  Mynors  wore 
white  flannels.  He  removed  his  coat,  and  turned  up  his 
sleeves,  showing  thick,  hairy  arms.  He  sculled  in  a  manner 
almost  dramatic,  and  the  dinghy  shot  about  like  a  water- 
spider  on  a  brook.  Anna  had  nothing  to  do  except  to  sit 
still  and  enjoy.  Everything  was  drowned  in  dazzling  sun- 
light, and  both  Henry  and  Anna  could  feel  the  process  of 
tanning  on  their  faces.  The  bay  shimmered  with  a  million 
diamond-points;  it  was  impossible  to  keep  the  eyes  open 
without  frowning,  and  soon  Anna  could  see  the  beads  of 
sweat  on  Henry's  crimson  brow. 

"  Warm  ?  "  she  said.  This  was  the  first  word  of  con- 
versation. He  merely  smiled  in  reply.  Presently  they 
were  at  the  other  side  of  the  bay,  in  a  cave  whose  sandy  and 
rock-strewn  floor  trembled  clear  under  a  fathom  of  blue 
water. 

They  landed  on  a  jutting  rock;  Henry  pushed  his 
straw  hat  back,  and  wiped  his  forehead.  "  Glorious ! 
glorious !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Do  you  swim  ?  No  ?  You 
should  get  Beatrice  to  teach  you.  I  swam  out  here  this 
morning  at  seven  o'clock.  It  was  chilly  enough  then.  Oh ! 
I  forgot,  I  told  you  at  breakfast." 

She  could  see  him  in  the  translucent  water,  swimming  with 


THE   ISLE  203 

long,  powerful  strokes.  Dozens  of  boats  were  moving  lazily 
in  the  bay,  each  with  a  cargo  of  parasols. 

"  There's  a  good  deal  of  the  sunshade  afloat,"  he  re- 
marked. "  Why  haven't  you  got  one  ?  You'll  get  as  brown 
as  Tom  Kelly." 

"  That's  what  I  want,"  she  said. 

"  Look  at  yourself  in  the  water  there,"  he  said,  pointing 
to  a  little  pool  left  on  the  top  of  the  rock  by  the  tide.  She 
did  so,  and  saw  two  fiery  cheeks,  and  a  forehead  divided  by 
a  horizontal  line  into  halves  of  white  and  of  crimson;  the 
tip  of  the  nose  was  blistered. 

"  Isn't  it  disgraceful?  "  he  suggested. 

"  Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "  they'll  never  know  me  when 
I  get  home  !  " 

It  was  in  such  wise  that  they  talked,  endlessly  exchanging 
trifles  of  comment.  Anna  thought  to  herself :  "  Is  this 
Jove-making  ?  "  It  could  not  be,  she  decided ;  but  she  in- 
finitely preferred  it  so.  She  was  content.  She  wished  for 
nothing  better  than  this  apparently  frivolous  and  irrespon- 
sible dalliance.  She  felt  that  if  Mynors  were  to  be  tender, 
sentimental,  and  serious,  she  should  become  wretchedly  self- 
conscious. 

They  re-embarked,  and,  skirting  the  shore,  gradually 
came  round  to  the  beach.  Up  above  them,  on  the  cliffs,  they 
could  discern  the  industrious  figure  of  Beatrice,  with  easel 
and  sketching-umbrella,  and  all  the  panoply  of  the  earnest 
amateur. 

"  Do  you  sketch  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  Not  I ! "  he  said  scornfully. 


204  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Don't  you  believe  in  that  sort  of  thing,  then  ?  " 

"  It's  all  right  for  professional  artists,"  he  said ;  "  people 

who  can  paint.  But Well,  I  suppose  it's  harmless 

for  the  amateurs — finds  them  something  to  do." 

"  I  wish  I  could  paint,  anyway,"  she  retorted. 

"  I'm  glad  you  can't,"  he  insisted. 

When  they  got  back  to  the  cliffs,  towards  tea-time,  Bea- 
trice was  still  painting,  but  in  a  new  spot.  She  seemed 
entirely  absorbed  in  her  work,  and  did  not  hear  their  ap- 
proach. 

"  Let's  creep  up  and  surprise  her,"  Mynors  whispered. 
"  You  go  first,  and  put  your  hands  over  her  eyes." 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Beatrice,  blindfolded ;  "  how  horrid 
you  are,  Henry !  I  know  who  it  is — I  know  who  it  is." 

"  You  just  don't,  then,"  said  Henry,  now  in  front  of 
her.  Anna  removed  her  hands. 

"  Well,  you  told  her  to  do  it,  I'm  sure  of  that.  And  I 
was  getting  on  so  splendidly !  I  sha'n't  do  another  stroke 
now." 

"  That's  right,"  said  Henry.  "  You've  wasted  quite 
enough  time  as  it  is." 

Beatrice  pouted.  She  was  evidently  annoyed  with  both 
of  them.  She  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  jealous  of  their 
mutual  understanding  and  agreement.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sut- 
ton  issued  from  the  house,  and  the  five  stood  chatting  till 
tea  was  ready ;  but  the  shadow  remained  on  Beatrice's  face. 
Mynors  made  several  attempts  to  laugh  it  away,  and  at  dusk 
these  two  went  for  a  stroll  to  Port  St.  Mary.  They  re- 
turned in  a  state  of  deep  intimacy.  During  supper  Bea- 


THE   ISLE  205 

trice  was  consciously  and  elaborately  angelic,  and  there  was 
that  in  her  voice  and  eyes,  when  sometimes  she  addressed 
Mynors,  which  almost  persuaded  Anna  that  he  might  once 
have  loved  his  cousin.  At  night,  in  the  bedroom,  Anna 
imagined  that  she  could  detect  in  Beatrice's  attitude  the 
least  shade  of  condescension.  She  felt  hurt,  and  despised 
herself  for  feeling  hurt. 

So  the  days  passed,  without  much  variety,  for  the  Suttons 
were  not  addicted  to  excursions.  Anna  was  profoundly 
happy ;  she  had  forgotten  care.  She  agreed  to  every  sug- 
gestion for  amusement;  each  moment  had  its  pleasure,  and 
this  pleasure  was  quite  independent  of  the  thing  done;  it 
sprang  from  all  activities  and  idlenesses.  She  was  at  spe- 
cial pains  to  fraternise  with  Mr.  Sutton.  He  made  an  in- 
teresting companion,  full  of  facts  about  strata,  outcrops, 
and  breaks,  his  sole  weakness  being  the  habit  of  quoting 
extremely  sentimental  scraps  of  verse  when  walking  by  the 
seashore.  He  frankly  enjoyed  Anna's  attention  to  him, 
and  took  pride  in  her  society.  Mrs.  Sutton,  that  simple 
heart,  devoted  herself  to  the  attainment  of  absolute  quies- 
cence. She  had  come  for  a  rest,  and  she  achieved  her  pur- 
pose. Her  kindliness  became  for  the  time  passive  instead  of 
active.  Beatrice  was  a  changing  quantity  in  the  domestic 
equation.  Plainly  her  parents  had  spoiled  their  only  child, 
and  she  had  frequent  fits  of  petulance,  particularly  with 
Mynors ;  but  her  energy  and  spirits  atoned  well  for  these. 
As  for  Mynors,  he  behaved  exactly  as  on  the  first  Monday,. 
He  spent  many  hours  alone  with  Anna — (Beatrice  appeared 
to  insist  on  leaving  them  together,  even  while  showing  a 


206  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

faint  resentment  at  the  loneliness  thus  entailed  on  herself) 
— and  his  attitude  was  such  as  Anna,  ignorant  of  the  ways 
of  brothers,  deemed  a  brother  might  adopt. 

On  the  second  Monday  an  incident  occurred.  In  the 
afternoon  Mr.  Sutton  had  asked  Beatrice  to  go  with  him 
to  Port  St.  Mary,  and  she  had  refused  on  the  plea  that  the 
light  was  of  a  suitable  grey  for  painting.  Mr.  Sutton  had 
slipped  off  alone,  unseen  by  Anna  and  Henry,  who  had 
meant  to  accompany  him  in  place  of  Beatrice.  Before  tea, 
while  Anna,  Beatrice,  and  Henry  were  awaiting  the  meal 
in  the  parlour,  Mynors  referred  to  the  matter. 

"  I  hope  you've  done  some  decent  work  this  afternoon," 
he  said  to  Beatrice. 

** 1  haven't,"  she  replied  shortly ;  "  I  haven't  done  a 
stroke." 

"  But  you  said  you  were  going  to  paint  hard ! " 

"  Well,  I  didn't." 

"  Then  why  couldn't  you  have  gone  to  Port  St.  Mary, 
instead  of  breaking  your  fond  father's  heart  by  a  refusal  ?  " 

"  He  didn't  want  me,  really." 

Anna  interjected:   "  I  think  he  did,  Bee." 

"  You  know  you're  very  self-willed,  not  to  say  selfish," 
Mynors  said. 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  Beatrice  protested  seriously.  "  Am  I, 
Anna?" 

"  Well "  Anna  tried  to  think  of  a  diplomatic  pro- 
nouncement. Beatrice  took  offence  at  the  hesitation. 

"  Oh !  You  two  are  bound  to  agree,  of  course.  You're 
as  thick  as  thieves." 


THE    ISLE  207 

She  gazed  steadily  out  of  the  window,  and  there  was  a 
silence.  Mynors'  lip  curled. 

"  Oh!  There's  the  loveliest  yacht  just  coming  into  the 
bay,"  Beatrice  cried  suddenly,  in  a  tone  of  affected  enthu- 
siasm. "  I'm  going  out  to  sketch  it."  She  snatched  up  her 
hat  and  sketching-block,  and  ran  hastily  from  the  room. 
The  other  two  saw  her  sitting  on  the  grass,  sharpening  a 
pencil.  The  yacht,  a  large  and  luxurious  craft,  had  evi- 
dently come  to  anchor  for  the  night. 

Mrs.  Sutton  arrived  from  her  bedroom,  and  then  Mr. 
Sutton  also  came  in.  Tea  was  served.  Mynors  called  to 
Beatrice  through  the  window  and  received  no  reply.  Then 
Mrs.  Sutton  summoned  her. 

"  Go  on  with  your  tea,"  Beatrice  shouted,  without  turn- 
ing her  head.  "  Don't  wait  for  me.  I'm  bound  to  finish 
this  now." 

"  Fetch  her,  Anna  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Sutton  after  another 
interval.  Anna  rose  to  obey,  half-fearful. 

"Aren't  you  coming  in,  Bee?"  She  stood  by  the 
sketcher's  side,  and  observed  nothing  but  a  few  meaning- 
less lines  on  the  block. 

"  Didn't  you  hear  what  I  said  to  mother  ?  " 

Anna  retired  in  discomfiture. 

Tea  was  finished.  They  went  out,  but  kept  at  a  discreet 
distance  from  the  artist,  who  continued  to  use  her  pencil 
until  dusk  had  fallen.  Then  they  returned  to  the  sitting- 
room,  where  a  fire  had  been  lighted,  and  Beatrice  at  length 
followed.  As  the  others  sat  in  a  circle  round  the  fire,  Bea- 
trice, who  occupied  the  sofa  in  solitude,  gave  a  shiver. 


208  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  Beatrice,  you've  taken  cold,"  said  her  mother,  "  sitting 
out  there  like  that." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  mother — what  a  fidget  you  are !  " 

"  A  fidget  I  certainly  am  not,  my  darling,  and  that  you 
know  very  well.  As  you've  had  no  tea,  you  shall  have  some 
gruel  at  once,  and  go  to  bed  and  get  warm." 

"  Oh,  no,  mother !  "  But  Mrs.  Sutton  was  resolved,  and 
in  half  an  hour  she  had  taken  Beatrice  to  bed  and  tucked 
her  up. 

When  Anna  went  to  the  bedroom  Beatrice  was  awake. 

"  Can't  you  sleep  ?  "  she  inquired  kindly. 

"  No,"  said  Beatrice,  in  a  feeble  voice,  "  I'm  restless, 
somehow." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is  influenza,"  said  Mrs.  Sutton,  on  the 
following  morning,  when  she  learnt  from  Anna  that  Beatrice 
had  had  a  bad  night,  and  would  take  breakfast  in  bed.  She 
carried  the  invalid's  food  upstairs  herself.  "  I  hope  it  isn't 
influenza,"  she  said  later.  "  The  girl  is  very  hot." 

"  You  haven't  a  clinical  thermometer?  "  Mynors  sug- 
gested. 

"  Go,  see  if  you  can  buy  one  at  the  little  chemist's,"  she 
replied  eagerly.  In  a  few  minutes  he  came  back  with  the 
instrument. 

"  She's  at  over  a  hundred,"  Mrs.  Sutton  reported,  having 
used  the  thermometer.  "  What  do  you  say,  father  ?  Shall 
we  send  for  a  doctor?  I'm  not  so  set  up  with  doctors  as  a 
general  rule,"  she  added,  as  if  in  defence,  to  Anna.  "  I 
brought  Beatrice  through  measles  and  scarlet  fever  without 
a  doctor — we  never  used  to  think  of  having  a  doctor  in 


THE   ISLE  209 

those  days  for  ordinary  ailments;  but  influenza — that's 
different.  Eh,  I  dread  it ;  you  never  know  how  it  will  end. 
And  poor  Beatrice  had  such  a  bad  attack  last  Martinmas." 

"  If  you  like,  I'll  run  for  a  doctor  now,"  said  Mynors. 

"  Let  be  till  to-morrow,"  the  Alderman  decided.  "  We'll 
see  how  she  goes  on.  Happen  it's  nothing  but  a  cold." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Mrs.  Sutton ;  "  it's  no  use  crying  out 
before  you're  hurt." 

Anna  was  struck  by  the  placidity  with  which  they  covered 
their  apprehension.  Towards  noon,  Beatrice,  who  said  that 
she  felt  better,  insisted  on  rising.  A  fire  was  lighted  at  once 
in  the  parlour,  and  she  sat  in  front  of  it  till  tea-time,  when 
she  was  obliged  to  go  to  bed  again.  On  the  Wednesday 
morning,  after  a  night  which  had  been  almost  sleepless  for 
both  the  girls,  her  temperature  stood  at  103°,  and  Henry 
fetched  the  doctor,  who  pronounced  it  a  case  of  influenza, 
severe,  demanding  very  careful  treatment.  Instantly  the 
normal  movement  of  the  household  was  changed.  The  sick- 
room became  a  mysterious  centre  round  which  everything 
revolved,  and  the  parlour,  without  the  alteration  of  a  single 
chair,  took  on  a  deserted,  forlorn  appearance.  Meals  were 
eaten  like  the  passover,  with  loins  girded  for  any  sudden 
summons.  Mrs.  Sutton  and  Anna,  as  nurses,  grew  impor- 
tant in  the  eyes  of  the  men,  who  instinctively  effaced  them- 
selves, existing  only  like  messenger-boys  whose  business  it 
is  to  await  a  call.  Yet  there  was  no  alarm,  flurry,  nor  ex- 
citement. In  the  evening  the  doctor  returned.  The  pa- 
tient's temperature  had  not  fallen.  It  was  part  of  the 
treatment  that  a  medicine  should  be  administered  every  two 


210  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

hours  with  absolute  regularity,  and  Mrs.  Sutton  said  that 
she  should  sit  up  through  the  night. 

"  I  shall  do  that,"  said  Anna. 

"  Nay,  I  won't  hear  of  it,"  Mrs.  Sutton  replied,  smiling. 

But  the  three  men  (the  doctor  had  remained  to  chat  in 
the  parlour),  recognising  Anna's  capacity  and  reliability, 
and  perhaps  impressed  also  by  her  business-like  appearance 
as,  arrayed  in  a  white  apron,  she  stood  with  firm  lips  before 
them,  gave  a  unanimous  decision  against  Mrs.  Sutton. 

"  We'st  have  you  ill  next,  lass,"  said  the  Alderman  to 
his  wife ;  "  and  that  '11  never  do." 

"  Well,"  Mrs.  Sutton  surrendered,  "  if  I  can  leave  her  to 
anyone,  it's  Anna." 

Mynors  smiled  appreciatively. 

On  the  Thursday  morning  there  was  still  no  sign  of  re- 
covery. The  temperature  was  104°,  and  the  patient  slightly 
delirious.  Anna  left  the  sickroom  at  eight  o'clock  to  'pre- 
side at  breakfast,  and  Mrs,  Sutton  took  her  place. 

"  You  look  tired,  my  dear,"  said  the  Alderman  affection- 
ately. 

"  I  feel  perfectly  well,"  she  replied  with  cheerfulness. 

"•And  you  aren't  afraid  of  catching  it?  "  Mynors  asked. 

"  Afraid  ?  "  she  said ;  "  there's  no  fear  of  me  catching  it." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  know,  that's  all.     I'm  never  ill." 

"  That's  the  right  way  to  keep  well,"  the  Alderman  re- 
marked. 

The  quiet  admiration  of  these  two  men  was  very  pleasant 
to  her.  She  felt  that  she  had  established  herself  forever  in 


THE   ISLE  211 

their  esteem.  After  breakfast,  in  obedience  to  them,  she 
slept  for  several  hours  on  Mrs.  Button's  bed.  In  the  after- 
noon Beatrice  was  worse.  The  doctor  called,  and  found  her 
temperature  at  105°. 

"  This  can't  last,"  he  remarked  briefly. 

"  Well,  Doctor,"  Mr.  Sutton  said,  "  it's  i'  your  hands." 

"  Nay,"  Mrs.  Sutton  murmured  with  a  smile,  "  I've  left 
it  with  God.  It's  with  Him." 

This  was  the  first  and  only  word  of  religion,  except  grace 
at  table,  that  Anna  heard  from  the  Suttons  during  her  stay 
in  the  Isle  of  Man.  She  had  feared  lest  vocal  piety  might 
form  a  prominent  feature  of  their  daily  life,  but  her  fear 
had  proved  groundless.  She  too,  from  reason  rather  than 
instinct,  had  tried  to  pray  for  Beatrice's  recovery.  She 
had,  however,  found  much  more  satisfaction  in  the  activity 
of  nursing. 

Again  that  night  she  sat  up,  and  on  the  Friday  morning 
Beatrice  was  better.  At  noon  all  immediate  danger  was 
past ;  the  patient  slept ;  her  temperature  was  almost  correct. 
Anna  went  to  bed  in  the  afternoon  and  slept  soundly  till 
supper-time,  when  she  awoke  very  hungry.  For  the  first 
time  in  three  days  Beatrice  could  be  left  alone.  The  other 
four  had  supper  together,  cheerful  and  relieved  after  the 
tension. 

"  She'll  be  as  right  as  a  trivet  in  a  few  days,"  said  the 
Alderman. 

"  A  few  weeks,"  said  Mrs.  Sutton. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mynors,  "  you'll  stay  on  here  now  ?  " 

"  We  shall  stay  until  Beatrice  is  quite  fit  to  travel,"  Mr. 


212  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

Sutton  answered.  "  I  might  have  to  run  over  to  th'  Five 
Towns  for  a  day  or  two  middle  of  next  week,  but  I  can  come 
back  immediately." 

"  Well,  I  must  go  to-morrow,"  Mynors  sighed. 

"  Surely  you  can  stay  over  Sunday,  Henry?  " 

"  No ;  I've  no  one  to  take  my  place  at  school." 

"  And  I  must  go  to-morrow,  too,"  said  Anna  suddenly. 

"  Fiddle-de-dee,  Anna !  "  the  Alderman  protested. 

"  I  must,"  she  insisted.  "  Father  will  expect  me.  You 
know  I  came  for  a  fortnight.  Besides,  there's  Agnes." 

"  Agnes  will  be  all  right." 

"  I  must  go."     They  saw  that  she  was  fixed. 

"  Won't  a  short  walk  do  you  good  ?  "  Mynors  suggested 
to  her,  with  singular  gravity,  after  supper.  "  You've  not 
been  outside  for  two  days." 

She  looked  inquiringly  at  Mrs.  Sutton. 

"  Yes,  take  her,  Henry ;  she'll  sleep  better  for  it.  Eh, 
Anna,  but  it's  a  shame  to  send  you  home  with  those  rings 
round  your  eyes." 

She  went  upstairs  for  a  jacket.      Beatrice  was  awake. 

"  Anna,"  she  exclaimed  in  a  weak  voice,  without  any  pref- 
ace, "  I  was  awfully  silly  and  cross  the  other  afternoon, 
before  all  this  business.  Just  now,  when  you  came  into  the 
room.  I  was  feeling  quite  ashamed." 

"  Oh !  Bee !  "  she  answered,  bending  over  her,  "  what 
nonsense !  Now  go  off  to  sleep  at  once."  She  was  very 
happy.  Beatrice,  victim  of  a  temperament  which  had  the 
childishness  and  the  impulsiveness  of  the  artist  without  his 
higher  and  sterner  traits,  sank  back  in  facile  content. 


THE   ISLE  213 

The  night  was  still  and  very  dark.  When  Anna  and 
Mynors  got  outside  they  could  distinguish  neither  the  sky 
nor  the  sea ;  but  the  faint,  restless  murmur  of  the  sea  came 
up  the  cliffs.  Only  the  lights  of  the  houses  disclosed  the 
direction  of  the  road. 

"  Suppose  we  go  down  to  the  jetty,  and  then  along  as 
far  as  the  breakwater  ? "  he  said,  and  she  concurred. 
"  Won't  you  take  my  muffler — again  ?  "  h^  added,  pulling 
this  ever-present  article  from  his  pocket. 

"  No,  thanks,"  she  said,  almost  coldly,  "  it's  really  quite 
warm."  She  regarded  the  offer  of  the  muffler  as  an  indis- 
cretion— his  sole  indiscretion  during  their  acquaintance.  As 
they  walked  down  the  hill  to  thdfcshore  she  thought  how 
Beatrice's  illness  had  sharply  interrupted  their  relations. 
If  she  had  come  to  the  Isle  of  Man  with  a  vague  idea  that 
he  would  possibly  propose  to  her,  the  expectation  was  disap- 
pointed; but  she  felt  no  disappointment.  She  felt  that 
events  had  lifted  her  to  a  higher  plane  than  that  of  love- 
making.  She  was  filled  with  the  proud  satisfaction  of  a 
duty  accomplished.  She  did  not  seek  to  minimise  to  herself 
the  fact  that  she  had  been  of  real  value  to  her  friends  in 
the  last  few  days,  had  probably  saved  Mrs.  Sutton  from  ill- 
ness, had  certainly  laid  them  all  under  an  obligation.  Their 
gratitude,  unexpressed,  but  patent  on  each  face,  gave  her 
infinite  pleasure.  She  had  won  their  respect  by  the  man- 
ner in  which  she  had  risen  to  the  height  of  an  emergency 
that  demanded  more  than  devotion.  She  had  proved,  not 
merely  to  them,  but  to  herself,  that  she  could  be  calm  under 
stress,  and  could  exert  moral  force  when  occasion  needed. 


214  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

Such  were  the  joyous  and  exultant  reflections  which  passed 
through  her  brain — unnaturally  active  in  the  factitious 
wakefulness  caused  by  excessive  fatigue.  She  was  in  an 
extremely  nervous  and  excitable  condition — and  never 
guessed  it,  fancying  indeed  that  her  emotions  were  excep- 
tionally tranquil  that  night.  She  had  not  begun  to  realise 
the  crisis  through  which  she  had  just  lived. 

The  uneven  road  to  the  ruined  breakwater  was  quite 
deserted.  Having  reached  the  limit  of  the  path,  they  stood 
side  by  side,  solitary,  silent,  gazing  at  the  black  and  gently 
heaving  surface  of  the  sea.  The  eye  was  foiled  by  the  in- 
tense gloom;  the  ear  could  make  nothing  of  the  strange 
night-noises  of  the  bay  and  the  ocean  beyond ;  but  the  im- 
agination was  stimulated  by  the  appeal  of  all  this  mystery 
and  darkness.  Never  had  the  water  seemed  so  wonderful, 
terrible,  and  austere. 

"  We  are  going  away  to-morrow,"  he  said  at  length. 

Anna  started  and  shook  with  apprehension  at  the  tremor 
in  his  voice.  She  had  read  that  a  woman  was  always  well 
warned  by  her  instincts  when  a  man  meant  to  propose  to  her. 
But  here  was  the  proposal  imminent,  and  she  had  not  sus- 
pected. In  a  flash  of  insight  she  perceived  that  the  very 
event  which  had  separated  them  for  three  days  had  also  im- 
pelled the  lover  forward  in  his  course.  It  was  the  thought 
of  her  vigils,  her  fortitude,  her  compassion,  that  had  fanned 
the  flame.  She  was  not  surprised,  only  made  uncomfortable, 
when  he  took  her  hand. 

"  Anna,"  he  said,  "  it's  no  use  making  a  long  story  of 
it.  I'm  tremendously  in  love  with  you;  you  know  I  am." 


THE   ISLE  215 

He  stepped  back,  still  holding  her  hand.  She  could  say 
nothing. 

"  Well?  "  he  ventured.     "  Didn't  you  know?  " 

"  I  thought — I  thought,"  she  murmured  stupidly,  "  I 
thought  you  liked  me." 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  admire  you.  Fm  not  going  to 
praise  you  to  your  face,  but  I  simply  never  met  anyone  like 
you.  From  the  very  first  moment  I  saw  you,  it  was  the  same. 

It's  something  in  your  face,  Anna Anna,  will  you  be 

my  wife?  " 

The  actual  question  was  put  in  a  precise,  polite,  some- 
what conventional  tone.  To  Anna  he  was  never  more  him- 
self than  at  that  moment. 

She  could  not  speak ;  she  could  not  analyse  her  feelings ; 
she  could  not  even  think.  She  was  adrift.  At  last  she  stam- 
mered :  "  We've  only  known  each  other " 

"  Oh,  dear,"  he  exclaimed  masterfully,  "  what  does  that 
matter?  If  it  had  been  a  dozen  years  instead  of  one,  that 
would  have  made  no  difference."  She  drew  her  hand  timidly 
away,  but  he  took  it  again.  She  felt  that  he  dominated 
her,  and  would  decide  for  her.  "  Say  yes." 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

She  saw  pictures  of  her  career  as  his  wife,  and  resolved 
that  one  of  her  first  acts  of  her  freedom  should  be  to  re- 
lease Agnes  from  the  more  ignominious  of  her  father's 
tyrannies. 

They  walked  home  almost  in  silence.  She  was  engaged, 
then.  Yet  she  experienced  no  new  sensation.  She  felt  as 
she  had  felt  on  the  way  down,  except  that  she  was  sorely 


216  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

perturbed.  There  was  no  ineffable  rapture,  no  ecstatic 
bliss.  Suddenly  the  prospect  of  happiness  swept  over  her 
like  a  flood. 

At  the  gate  she  wished  to  make  a  request  to  him,  but 
hesitated,  because  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  use  his 
Christian  name.  It  was  proper  for  her  to  use  his  Christian 
name,  however,  and  she  would  do  so,  or  perish. 

"  Henry,"  she  said,  "  don't  tell  anyone  here."  He 
merely  kissed  her  once  more.  She  went  straight  upstairs. 


XI:  THE  DOWNFALL 

IN  order  to  catch  the  Liverpool  steamer  at  Douglas  it 
was  necessary  to  leave  Port  Erin  at  half -past  six  in  the 
morning.  The  freshness  of  the  morning,  and  the  smiles 
of  the  Alderman  and  his  wife  as  they  waved  God-speed  from 
the  door-step,  filled  Anna  with  a  serene  content  which  she 
certainly  had  not  felt  during  the  wakeful  night.  She  for- 
got, then,  the  hours  passed  with  her  conscience  in  realising 
how  serious  and  solemn  a  thing  was  this  engagement,  made 
in  an  instant  on  the  previous  evening.  All  that  remained 
in  her  mind,  as  she  and  Henry  walked  quickly  down  the 
road,  was  the  tonic  sensation  of  high  resolves  to  be  a  worthy 
wife.  The  duties,  rather  than  the  joys,  of  her  condition,  had 
lain  nearest  her  heart  until  that  moment  of  setting  out,  giv- 
ing her  an  anxious  and  almost  worried  mien  which  at  break- 
fast neither  Henry  nor  the  Suttons  could  quite  understand. 
But  now  the  idea  of  duty  ceased  for  a  time  to  be  paramount, 
and  she  loosed  herself  to  the  pleasures  of  the  day  in  store. 
The  harbour  was  full  of  low  wandering  mists,  through 
which  the  brown  sails  of  the  fishing-smacks  played  at  hide- 
and-seek.  High  above  them  the  round  forms  of  immense 
clouds  were  still  carrying  the  colours  of  sunrise.  The  gentle 
salt  wind  on  the  cheek  was  like  the  touch  of  the  life-giver. 
It  was  impossible,  on  such  a  morning,  not  to  exult  in  life, 
not  to  laugh  childishly  from  irrational  glee,  not  to  dismiss 
the  memory  of  grief  and  the  apprehension  of  grief  as  mor- 

217 


218  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

bid  hallucinations.  Mynors'  face  expressed  the  double 
happiness  of  present  and  anticipated  pleasure.  He  had 
once  again  succeeded,  he  who  never  failed;  and  the  voyage 
back  to  England  was  for  him  a  triumphal  progress.  Anna 
responded  eagerly  to  his  mood.  The  day  was  an  ecstasy, 
a  bright  expanse  unstained.  To  Anna  in  particular  it  was 
a  unique  day,  marking  the  apogee  of  her  existence.  In 
the  years  that  followed  she  could  always  return  to  it  and  say 
to  herself :  "  That  day  I  was  happy,  foolishly,  ignorantly, ' 
but  utterly.  And  all  that  I  have  since  learnt  cannot  alter 
it — I  was  happy." 

When  they  reached  Shawport  station  a  cab  was  waiting 
for  Anna.  Unknown  to  her,  Henry  had  ordered  it  by  tele- 
graph. This  considerateness  was  of  a  piece,  she  thought, 
with  his  masterly  conduct  of  the  entire  journey — on  the 
steamer,  at  Liverpool,  in  the  train ;  nothing  that  an  ex- 
perienced traveller  could  devise  had  been  lacking  to  her 
comfort.  She  got  into  the  cab  alone,  while  Mynors,  fol- 
lowed by  a  boy  and  his  bag,  walked  to  his  rooms  in  Mount 
Street.  It  had  been  arranged,  at  Anna's  wish,  that  he 
should  not  appear  at  Manor  Terrace  till  supper-time. 
Ephraim  opened  for  her  the  door  of  her  home.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  he  was  pleased. 

"  Well,  father,  here  I  am  again,  you  see." 
"  Ay,  lass."  They  shook  hands,  and  she  indicated  to  the 
cabman  where  to  deposit  her  tin  box.  She  was  glad  and  re- 
lieved to  be  back.  Nothing  had  changed,  except  herself, 
and  this  absolute  sameness  was  at  once  pleasant  and  pathetic 
to  her. 


THE   DOWNFALL  219 

"  Where's  Agnes?  "  she  asked,  smiling  at  her  father.  In 
the  glow  of  arrival  she  had  a  vague  notion  that  her  rela- 
tions with  him  had  been  permanently  softened  by  absence. 

"  I  see  thou's  gotten  into  th'  habit  o'  flitting  about  in 
cabs,"  he  said,  without  answering  her  question. 

"  Well,  father,"  she  said,  smiling  yet,  "  there  was  the 
box.  I  couldn't  carry  the  box." 

"  I  reckon  thou  couldst  ha*  hired  a  lad  to  carry  it  for 
sixpence." 

She  did  not  reply.     The  cabman  had  gone  to  his  vehicle. 

"  Art'na  going  to  pay  th'  cabby?  " 

"  I've  paid  him,  father." 

"How  much?" 

She  paused.  "  Eighteenpence,  father."  It  was  a  lie ; 
she  had  paid  two  shillings. 

She  went  eagerly  into  the  kitchen,  and  then  into  the  par- 
lour, where  tea  was  set  for  one.  Agnes  was  not  there. 
"  Her's  upstairs,"  Ephraim  said,  meeting  Anna  as  she  came 
into  the  lobby  again.  She  ran  softly  upstairs,  and  into 
the  bedroom.  Agnes  was  replacing  ornaments  on  the  man- 
telpiece with  mathematical  exactitude;  under  her  arm  was 
a  duster.  The  child  turned,  startled,  and  gave  a  little 
shriek. 

"  Eh,  I  didn't  know  you'd  come.    How  early  you  are !  " 

They  rushed  towards  each  other,  embraced,  and  kissed. 
Anna  was  overcome  by  the  pathos  of  her  sister's  loneliness 
in  that  grim  house  for  fourteen  days,  while  she,  the  elder, 
had  been  absorbed  in  selfish  gaiety.  The  pale  face,  large, 
melancholy  eyes,  and  long,  thin  arms,  were  a  silent  accusa- 


220  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

tion.  She  wondered  that  she  could  ever  have  brought  her- 
self to  leave  Agnes  even  for  a  day.  Sitting  down  on  the 
bed,  she  drew  the  child  on  her  knee  in  a  fury  of  love,  and 
kissed  her  again,  weeping.  Agnes  cried  too,  from  sym- 
pathy. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  dear  Anna,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come 
back !  "  She  dried  her  eyes,  and  in  quite  a  different  tone  of 
voice  asked :  "  Has  Mr.  My nors  proposed  to  you  ?  " 

Anna  could  not  avoid  a  blush  at  this  simple  and  astound- 
ing query.  She  said :  "  Yes."  It  was  the  one  word  of  which 
she  was  capable,  under  the  circumstances.  That  was  not  the 
moment  to  tax  Agnes  with  too  much  precocity  and  abrupt- 
ness. 

"  You're  engaged,  then  ?  Oh,  Anna,  does  it  feel  nice  ? 
It  must.  I  knew  you  would  be !  " 

"  How  did  you  know,  Agnes  ?  " 

"  I  mean  I  knew  he  would  ask  you,  some  time.  All  the 
girls  at  school  knew  too." 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  talk  about  it,"  said  the  elder  sister. 

"  Oh,  no!    But  they  did ;  they  always  talking  about  it." 

"  You  never  told  me  that." 

"  I — I  didn't  like  to.  Anna,  shall  I  have  to  call  him 
Henry  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course.  When  we're  married  he  will  be  your 
brother-in-law." 

"  Shall  you  be  married  soon,  Anna?  " 

"  Not  for  a  very  long  time." 

"  When  you  are — shall  I  keep  house  alone?  I  can,  you 
know I  shall  never  dare  to  call  him  Henry.  But  he's 


THE   DOWNFALL  221 

awfully  nice;  isn't  he,  Anna?  Yes,  when  you  are  married, 
I  shall  keep  house  here,  but  I  shall  come  to  see  you  every 
day.  Father  will  have  to  let  me  do  that.  Does  father 
know  you're  engaged  ?  " 

"  Not  yet.  And  you  mustn't  say  anything.  Henry  is 
coming  up  for  supper.  And  then  father  will  be  told." 

"  Did  he  kiss  you,  Anna  ?  " 

"Who— father?" 

"  No,  silly !  Henry,  of  course — I  mean  when  he'd  asked 
you?" 

"  I  think  you  are  asking  all  the  questions.  Suppose  I 
ask  you  some  now.  How  have  you  managed  with  father? 
Has  he  been  nice  ?  " 

"  Some  days — yes,"  said  Agnes,  after  thinking  a  mo- 
ment. "  We  have  had  some  new  cups  and  saucers  up  from 
Mr.  Mynors'  works.  And  father  has  swept  the  kitchen 
chimney.  And,  oh  Anna !  I  asked  him  to-day  if  I'd  kept 
house  well,  and  he  said  *  Pretty  well,'  and  he  gave  me  a 
penny.  Look!  It's  the  first  money  I've  ever  had,  you 
know.  I  wanted  you  at  nights,  Anna — and  all  the  time,  too. 
I've  been  frightfully  busy.  I  cleaned  silvers  all  afternoon. 

Anna,  I  have  tried And  I've  got  some  tea  for  you. 

I'll  go  down  and  make  it.  Now  you  mustn't  come  into  the 
kitchen.  I'll  bring  it  to  you  in  the  parlour." 

"  I  had  my  tea  at  Crewe,"  Anna  was  about  to  say,  but 
refrained,  in  due  course  drinking  the  cup  prepared  by 
Agnes.  She  felt  passionately  sorry  for  Agnes,  too  young 
to  feel  the  shadow  which  overhung  her  future.  Anna  would 
marry  into  freedom,  but  Agnes  would  remain  the  serf. 


222  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

Would  Agnes  marry  ?  Could  she  ?  Would  her  father  allow 
it?  Anna  had  noticed  that  in  families  the  youngest,  petted 
in  childhood,  was  often  sacrificed  in  maturity.  It  was  the 
last  maid  who  must  keep  her  maidenhood,  and,  vicariously 
filial,  pay  out  of  her  own  life  the  debt  of  all  the  rest. 

"  Mr.  Mynors  is  coming  up  for  supper  to-night.  He 
wants  to  see  you,"  Anna  said  to  her  father,  as  calmly  as  she 
could.  The  miser  grunted.  But  at  eight  o'clock,  the  hour 
immutably  fixed  for  supper,  Henry  had  not  arrived.  The 
meal  proceeded,  of  course,  without  him.  To  Anna  his  ab- 
sence was  unaccountable  and  disturbing,  for  none  could  be 
more  punctilious  than  he  in  the  matter  of  appointments. 
She  expected  him  every  moment,  but  he  did  not  appear. 
Agnes,  filled  full  of  the  great  secret  confided  to  her,  was 
more  openly  impatient  than  her  sister.  Neither  of  them 
could  talk,  and  a  heavy  silence  fell  upon  the  family  group, 
a  silence  which  her  father,  on  that  particular  evening  of 
Anna's  return,  resented. 

"  You  dunna'  tell  us  much,"  he  remarked,  when  the  sup- 
per was  finished. 

She  felt  that  the  complaint  was  a  just  one.  Even  be- 
fore supper,  when  nothing  had  occurred  to  preoccupy  her, 
she  had  spoken  little.  There  had  seemed  so  much  to  tell — 
at  Port  Erin,  and  now  there  seemed  nothing  to  tell.  She 
ventured  into  a  flaccid,  perfunctory  account  of  Beatrice's 
illness,  of  the  fishing,  of  the  unfinished  houses  which  had 
caught  the  fancy  of  Mr.  Sutton ;  she  said  the  sea  had  been 
smooth,  that  they  had  had  something  to  eat  at  Liverpool, 
that  the  train  for  Crewe  was  very  prompt;  and  then  she 


THE   DOWNFALL  223 

could  think  of  no  more.  Silence  fell  again.  The  supper- 
things  were  cleared  away  and  washed  up.  At  a  quarter-past 
nine,  Agnes,  vainly  begging  permission  to  stay  up  in  order 
to  see  Mr.  Mynors,  was  sent  to  bed,  only  partially  comforted 
by  a  clothes-brush,  long-desired,  which  Anna  had  brought 
for  her  as  a  present  from  the  Isle  of  Man. 

"  Shall  you  tell  father  yourself,  now  Henry  hasn't 
come  ?  "  the  child  asked  Anna,  who  had  gone  upstairs  to  un- 
pack her  box. 

"  Yes,"  said  Anna    briefly. 

"  I  wonder  what  he'll  say,"  Agnes  reflected,  with  that 
habit,  always  annoying  to  Anna,  of  meeting  trouble  half- 
way. 

At/a  quarter  to  ten  Anna  ceased  to  expect  Mynors,  and 
finally  braced  herself  to  the  ordeal  of  a  solemn  interview 
with  her  father,  well  knowing  that  she  dared  not  leave  him 
any  longer  in  ignorance  of  her  engagement.  Already  the 
old  man  was  locking  and  bolting  the  door;  he  had  wound 
up  the  kitchen  clock.  When  he  came  back  to  the  parlour 
to  extinguish  the  gas  she  was  standing  by  the  mantel- 
piece. 

"  Father,"  she  began,  "  I've  something  I  must  tell 
you." 

"  Eh,  what's  that  ye  say  ?  "  His  hand  was  on  the  gas- 
tap.  He  dropped  it,  examining  her  face  curiously. 

"  Mr.  Mynors  has  asked  me  to  marry  him ;  he  asked  me 
last  night.  We  settled  he  should  come  up  to-night  to  see 
you — I  can't  think  why  he  hasn't.  It  must  be  something 
very  unexpected  and  important,  or  he'd  have  come."  She 


224  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

trembled,  her  heart  beat  violently ;  but  the  words  were  out, 
and  she  thanked  God. 

"  Asked  ye  to  marry  him,  did  he  ?  "  The  miser  gazed  at 
her  quizzically  out  of  his  small  blue  eyes. 

"  Yes,  father." 

"And  what  didst  say?" 

"  I  said  I  would." 

"  Oh !  Thou  saidst  thou  wouldst !  I  reckon  it  was 
for  thatten  as  thou  must  go  gadding  off  to  sea-side, 
eh?  " 

"  Father,  I  never  dreamt  of  such  a  thing  when  Suttons 
asked  me  to  go.  I  do  wish  Henry  " — the  cost  of  that 
Christian  name ! — "  had  come.  He  quite  meant  to  come  to- 
night." She  could  not  help  insisting  on  the  propriety  of 
Henry's  intentions. 

"  Then  I  am  for  be  consulted,  eh?  " 

"  Of  course,  father." 

"  Ye've  soon  made  it  up,  between  ye." 

His  tone  was,  at  the  best,  brusque ;  but  she  breathed  more 
easily,  divining  instantly  from  his  manner  that  he  meant  to 
offer  no  violent  objection  to  the  engagement.  She  knew 
that  only  tact  was  needed  now.  The  miser  had,  indeed, 
foreseen  the  possibility  of  this  marriage  for  months  past, 
and  had  long  since  decided  in  his  own  mind  that  Henry 
would  make  a  satisfactory  son-in-law.  Ephraim  had  no 
social  ambitions — with  all  his  meanness,  he  was  above  them ; 
he  had  nothing  but  contempt  for  rank,  style,  luxury,  and 
"  the  theory  of  what  it  is  to  be  a  lady  and  a  gentleman." 
Yet,  by  a  curious  contradiction,  Henry's  smartness  of  ap- 


THE   DOWNFALL  225 

pearance — the  smartness  of  an  unrivalled  commercial  trav- 
eller— pleased  him.  He  saw  in  Henry  a  young  and  sedate 
man  of  remarkable  shrewdness,  a  man  who  had  saved  money, 
had  made  money  for  others,  and  was  now  making  it  for  him- 
self ;  a  man  who  could  be  trusted  absolutely  to  perform  that 
feat  of  "  getting  on  " ;  a  "  safe  "  and  profoundly  respect- 
able man,  at  the  same  time  audacious  and  imperturbable. 
He  was  well  aware  that  Henry  had  really  fallen  in  love  with 
Anna,  but  nothing  would  have  convinced  him  that  Anna's 
money  was  not  the  primal  cause  of  Henry's  genuine  passion 
for  Anna's  self. 

"  You  like  Henry,  don't  you,  father  ?  "  Anna  said.  It  was 
a  failure  in  the  desired  tact,  for  Ephraim  had  never  been 
known  to  admit  that  he  liked  anyone  or  anything.  Such 
natures  are  capable  of  nothing  more  positive  than  tolera- 
tion. 

"  He's  a  hard-headed  chap,  and  he  knows  the  value  o* 
money.  Ay !  that  he  does ;  he  knows  which  side  his  bread's 
buttered  on."  A  sinister  emphasis  marked  the  last  sen- 
tence. 

Instead  of  remaining  silent,  Anna,  in  her  nervousness, 
committed  another  imprudence.  "  What  do  you  mean, 
father  ?  "  she  asked,  pretending  that  she  thought  it  im- 
possible he  could  mean  what  he  obviously  did  mean. 

"  Thou  knows  what  I'm  at,  lass.  Dost  think  he  isna* 
marrying  thee  for  thy  brass  ?  Dost  think  as  he  canna'  make 
a  fine  guess  what  thou'rt  worth?  But  that  wunna'  bother 
thee  as  long  as  thou'st  hooked  a  good-looking  chap." 

"Father!" 


226  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  Ay  !  thou  mayst  bridle ;  but  it's  true.  Dunna'  tell  me." 
Securely  conscious  of  the  perfect  purity  of  Mynors'  af- 
fection, she  was  not  in  the  least  hurt.  She  even  thought 
that  her  father's  attitude  was  not  quite  sincere,  an  attitude 
partially  due  to  mere  wilful  churlishness.  "  Henry  has 
never  even  mentioned  money  to  me,"  she  said  mildly. 

"  Happen  not ;  he  isna'  such  a  fool  as  that."  He  paused, 
and  continued :  "  Thou'rt  free  to  wed,  for  me.  Lasses  will 
do  it,  I  reckon,  and  thee  among  th'  rest."  She  smiled,  and 
on  that  smile  he  suddenly  turned  out  the  gas.  Anna  was 
glad  that  the  colloquy  had  ended  so  well.  Congratulations, 
endearments,  loving  regard  for  her  welfare :  she  had  not  ex- 
pected these  things,  and  was  in  no  wise  grieved  by  their 
absence.  Groping  her  way  towards  the  lobby,  she  con- 
sidered herself  lucky,  and  only  wished  that  nothing  had 
happened  to  keep  Mynors  away.  She  wanted  to  tell  him 
at  once  that  h.r  father  had  proved  tractable. 

The  next  morning,  Tellwright,  whose  attendance  at 
chapel  was  losing  the  strictness  of  its  old  regularity,  an- 
nounced that  he  should  stay  at  home.  Sunday's  dinner  was 
to  be  a  cold  repast,  and  so  Anna  and  Agnes  went  to  chapel. 
Anna's  thoughts  were  wholly  occupied  with  the  prospect  of 
seeing  Mynors,  and  hearing  the  explanation  of  his  absence 
on  Saturday  night. 

''  There  he  is !  "  Agnes  exclaimed  loudly,  as  they  were  ap- 
proaching the  chapel. 

"  Agnes,"  said  Anna,  "  when  will  you  learn  to  behave 
in  the  street?  " 


THE   DOWNFALL  227 

Mynors  stood  at  the  chapel-gates ;  he  was  evidently  await- 
ing them.  He  looked  grave,  almost  sad.  He  raised  his  hat 
and  shook  hands,  with  a  particular  friendliness  for  Agnes, 
who  was  speculating  whether  he  would  kiss  Anna,  as  his 
betrothed,  or  herself,  as  being  only  a  little  girl,  or  both, 
or  neither  of  them.  Her  eyes  already  expressed  a  sort  of 
ownership  in  him. 

"  I  should  like  to  speak  to  you  a  moment,"  Henry  said. 
"  Will  you  come  into  the  school-yard  ?  " 

"  Agnes,  you  had  better  go  straight  into  chapel,"  said 
Anna.  It  was  ignominious  disaster  to  the  child,  but  she 
obeyed. 

"  I  didn't  give  you  up  last  night  till  nearly  ten  o'clock," 
Anna  remarked  as  they  passed  into  the  school-yard.  She 
was  astonished  to  discover  in  herself  an  inclination  to  pout, 
to  play  the  offended  fair  one,  because  Mynors  had  failed  in 
his  appointment.  Contemptuously  she  crushed  it. 

"  Have  you  heard  about  Mr.  Price?  "  Mynors  began. 

"  No.    What  about  him  ?    Has  anything  happened  ?  " 

"  A  very  sad  thing  has  happened.  Yes "  He 

stopped,  from  emotion.  "  Our  superintendent  has  com- 
mitted suicide ! " 

"  Killed  himself?  "  Anna  gasped. 

"  He  hanged  himself  yesterday  afternoon  at  Edward 
Street,  in  the  slip-house,  after  the  works  were  closed.  Willie 
had  gone  home,  but  he  came  back,  when  his  father  didn't 
turn  up  for  dinner,  and  found  him.  Mr.  Price  was  quite 
dead.  He  ran  into  my  place  to  fetch  me  just  as  I  was  get- 
ting my  tea.  That  was  why  I  never  came  last  night." 


228  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Anna  was  speechless. 

"  I  thought  I  would  tell  you  myself,"  Henry  resumed. 
"  It  is  an  awful  thing  for  the  Sunday  School,  and  the  whole 
society,  too.  He,  a  prominent  Wesleyan,  a  worker  among 
us !  An  awful  thing !  "  he  repeated,  dominated  by  the  idea 
of  the  blow  thus  dealt  to  the  Methodist  connexion  by  the 
man  now  dead. 

"  Why  did  he  do  it?  "  Anna  demanded  curtly. 

Mynors  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  ejaculated:  "  Busi- 
ness troubles,  I  suppose;  it  couldn't  be  anything  else.  At 
school  this  morning  I  simply  announced  that  he  was  dead." 
Henry's  voice  broke,  but  he  added  after  a  pause :  "  Young 
Price  bore  himself  splendidly  last  night." 

Anna  turned  away  in  silence.  "  I  shall  come  up  for  tea, 
if  I  may,"  Henry  said,  and  then  they  parted,  he  to  the  sing- 
ing-seat, she  to  the  portico  of  the  chapel.  People  were  talk- 
ing in  groups  on  the  broad  steps  and  in  the  vestibule.  All 
knew  of  the  calamity,  and  had  received  from  it  a  new  inter- 
est in  life.  The  town  was  aroused  as  if  from  a  lethargy. 
Consternation  and  eager  curiosity  were  on  every  face. 
Those  who  arrived  in  ignorance  of  the  event  were  informed 
of  it  in  impressive  tones,  and  with  intense  satisfaction  to 
the  informer;  nothing  of  equal  importance  had  happened 
in  the  society  for  decades.  Anna  walked  up  the  aisle  to  her 
pew,  filled  with  one  thought : 

"  We  drove  him  to  it,  father  and  I." 

Her  fear  was  that  the  miser  had  renewed  his  terrible  in- 
sistence during  the  previous  fortnight.  She  forgot  that  she 
had  disliked  the  dead  man,  that  he  had  always  seemed  to  her 


THE   DOWNFALL  229 

mean,  pietistic,  and  two-faced.  She  forgot  that  in  pressing 
him  for  rent  many  months  overdue  she  and  her  father  had 
acted  within  their  just  rights — acted  as  Price  himself  would 
have  acted  in  their  place.  She  could  think  only  of  the 
strain,  the  agony,  the  despair  that  must  have  preceded  the 
miserable  tragedy.  Old  Price  had  atoned  for  all  in  one 
sublime  sin,  the  sole  deed  that  could  lend  dignity  and  re- 
pose to  such  a  figure  as  his.  Anna's  feverish  imagination 
reconstituted  the  scene  in  the  slip-house :  she  saw  it  as  some- 
thing grand,  accusing,  and  unanswerable ;  and  she  could  not 
dismiss  a  feeling  of  acute  remorse  that  she  should  have  been 
engaged  in  pleasure  at  that  very  hour  of  death.  Surely 
some  instinct  should  have  warned  her  that  the  hare  which 
she  had  helped  to  hunt  was  at  its  last  gasp ! 

Mr.  Sargent,  the  newly-appointed  second  minister,  was 
in  the  pulpit — a  little,  earnest  bachelor,  who  emphasised 
every  sentence  with  a  continual  tremor  of  the  voice. 
"  Brethren,"  he  said,  after  the  second  hymn — and  his  tones 
vibrated  with  a  singular  effect  through  the  half-empty 
building — "  before  I  proceed  to  my  sermon  I  have  one  word 
to  say  in  reference  to  the  awful  event  which  is  doubtless 
uppermost  in  the  minds  of  all  of  you.  It  is  not  for  us  to 
judge  the  man  who  is  now  gone  from  us,  ushered  into  the 
dread  presence  of  his  Maker  with  the  crime  of  self-murder 
upon  his  soul.  I  say  it  is  not  for  us  to  judge  him.  The 
ways  of  the  Almighty  are  past  finding  out.  Therefore  at 
such  a  moment  we  may  fitly  humble  ourselves  before  the 
Throne,  and  while  prostrate  there  let  us  intercede  for  the 
poor  young  man  who  is  left  behind,  bereft,  and  full  of 


230  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

grief  and  shame.  We  will  engage  in  silent  prayer."  He 
lifted  his  hand,  and  closed  his  eyes,  and  the  congregation 
leaned  forward  against  the  fronts  of  the  pews.  The  appeal- 
ing face  of  Willie  presented  itself  vividly  to  Anna. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  Agnes  asked,  in  a  whisper  of  apall- 
ing  distinctness.  Anna  frowned  angrily,  and  gave  no 
reply. 

While  the  last  hymn  was  being  sung,  Anna  signed  to 
Agnes  that  she  wished  to  leave  the  chapel.  Everyone  would 
be  aware  that  she  was  among  Price's  creditors,  and  she 
feared  that,  if  she  stayed  till  the  end  of  the  service  some 
chatterer  might  draw  her  into  a  distressing  conversation. 
The  sisters  went  out,  and  Agnes's  burning  curiosity  was  at 
length  relieved. 

"  Mr.  Price  has  hanged  himself,"  Anna  said  to  her  father 
when  they  reached  home. 

The  miser  looked  through  the  window  for  a  moment.  "  I 
am  na'  surprised,"  he  said.  "  Suicide's  i'  that  blood.  Ti- 
tus's  uncle  'Lijah  tried  to  kill  himself  twice  afore  he  died  o' 
gravel.  Us'n  have  to  do  summat  wi'  Edward  Street  at 
last." 

She  wanted  to  ask  Ephraim  if  he  had  been  demand- 
ing more  rent  lately,  but  she  could  not  find  courage  to 
do  so. 

Agnes  had  to  go  to  Sunday  School  alone  that  afternoon. 
Without  saying  anything  to  her  father,  Anna  decided  to 
stay  at  home.  She  spent  the  time  in  her  bedroom,  idle,  pre- 
occupied ;  and  did  not  come  downstairs  till  half-past  three. 
Ephraim  had  gone  out.  Agnes  presently  returned,  and 


THE   DOWNFALL  231 

then  Henry  came  in  with  Mr.  Tellwright.  They  were  con- 
versing amicably,  and  Anna  knew  that  her  engagement  was 
finally  and  satisfactorily  settled.  During  tea  no  reference 
was  made  to  it,  nor  to  the  suicide.  Mynors'  demeanour  was 
quiet  but  cheerful.  He  had  perfectly  recovered  from  the 
morning's  agitation,  and  gave  Ephraim  and  Agnes  a  viva- 
cious account  of  the  attractions  of  Port  Erin.  Anna  noticed 
the  amusement  in  his  eye  when  Agnes,  reddening,  said  to 
him :  "  Will  you  have  some  more  bread-and-butter,  Henry  ?  " 
It  seemed  to  be  tacitly  understood  afterwards  that  Agnes 
and  her  father  would  attend  chapel,  while  Anna  and  Henry 
kept  house.  No  one  was  ingenious  enough  to  detect  an  im- 
propriety in  the  arrangement.  For  some  obscure  reason, 
immediately  upon  the  departure  of  the  chapel-goers,  Anna 
went  into  the  kitchen,  rattled  some  plates,  stroked  her  hair 
mechanically,  and  then  stole  back  again  to  the  parlour.  It 
was  a  chilly  evening,  and  instead  of  walking  up  and  down 
the  strip  of  garden  the  betrothed  lovers  sat  together  under 
the  window.  Anna  wondered  whether  or  not  she  was  happy. 
The  presence  of  Mynors  was,  at  any  rate,  marvellously 
soothing. 

"  Did  your  father  say  anything  about  the  Price  affair  ?  " 
he  began,  yielding  at  once  to  the  powerful  hypnotism  of  the 
subject  which  fascinated  the  whole  town  that  night, 
and  which  Anna  could  bear  neither  to  discuss  nor  to 
ignore. 

"  Not  much,"  she  said,  and  repeated  to  him  her  father's 
remark. 

Mynors  told  her  all  he  knew ;  how  Willie  had  discovered 


232  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

his  father  with  his  toes  actually  touching  the  floor,  leaning 
slightly  forward,  quite  dead ;  how  he  had  then  cut  the  rope 
and  fetched  Mynors,  who  went  with  him  to  the  police-sta- 
tion ;  how  they  had  tied  up  the  head  of  the  corpse,  and  then 
waited  till  night  to  wheel  the  body  on  a  hand-cart  from  Ed- 
ward Street  to  the  mortuary  chamber  at  the  police-station ; 
how  the  police  had  telephoned  to  the  coroner,  and  settled  at 
once  that  the  inquest  should  be  held  on  Monday,  in  the 
court-room  at  the  town-hall ;  and  how  quiet,  self-contained, 
and  dignified  Willie  had  been,  surprising  everyone  by  this 
new-found  manliness.  It  all  seemed  hideously  real  to  Anna, 
as  Henry  added  detail  to  detail. 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  she  said  very  calmly,  when 
he  had  finished  the  recital,  "  that  I — I'm  dreadfully  upset 
over  it.  I  can't  help  thinking  that  I — that  father  and  I, 
I  mean — are  somehow  partly  responsible  for  this." 

"For  Price's  death?    How?" 

"  We  have  been  so  hard  on  him  for  his  rent  lately,  you 
know." 

"  My  dearest  girl !  What  next  ?  "  He  took  her  hand  in 
his.  "  I  assure  you  the  idea  is  absurd.  You've  only  got  it 
because  you're  so  sensitive  and  high-strung.  I  undertake  to 
say  Price  was  stuck  fast  everywhere — everywhere — hadn't 
a  chance." 

"  Me  high-strung !  "  she  exclaimed.  He  kissed  her  lov- 
ingly. But,  beneath  the  feeling  of  reassurance,  which  by 
superior  force  he  had  imposed  on  her,  there  lay  a  feeling 
that  she  was  treated  like  a  frightened  child  who  must  be 
tranquillised  in  the  night.  Nevertheless,  she  was  grateful 


THE  DOWNFALL  233 

for  his  kindness,  and  when  she  went  to  bed  she  obtained 
relief  from  the  returning  obsession  of  the  suicide  by  making 
anew  her  vows  to  him. 

As  a  theatrical  effect  the  death  of  Titus  Price  could 
scarcely  have  been  surpassed.  The  town  was  profoundly 
moved  by  the  spectacle  of  this  abject,  yet  heroic,  surrender 
of  all  those  pretences  by  means  of  which  society  contrives 
to  tolerate  itself.  Here  was  a  man  whom  no  one  respected, 
but  everyone  pretended  to  respect — who  knew  that  he 
was  respected  by  none,  but  pretended  that  he  was  re- 
spected by  all;  whose  whole  career  was  made  up  of 
dissimulations :  religious,  moral,  and  social.  If  any  man 
could  have  been  trusted  to  continue  the  decent  sham  to 
the  end,  and  so  preserve  the  general  self-esteem,  surely  it 
was  this  man.  But  no !  Suddenly  abandoning  all  impost- 
ure, he  transgresses  openly,  brazenly;  and,  snatching  a  bit 
of  hemp  cries :  "  Behold  me ;  this  is  real  human  nature, 
this  is  the  truth ;  the  rest  was  lies.  I  lied ;  you  lied.  I  con- 
fess it,  and  you  shall  confess  it."  Such  a  thunderclap 
shakes  the  very  base  of  the  microcosm.  The  young  folk  in 
particular  could  with  difficulty  believe  their  ears.  It  seemed 
incredible  to  them  that  Titus  Price,  the  Methodist,  the  Sun- 
day-school superintendent,  the  loud  champion  of  the  highest 
virtues,  should  commit  the  sin  of  all  sins — murder.  They 
were  dazed.  The  remembrance  of  his  insincerity  did 
nothing  to  mitigate  the  blow.  In  their  view  it  was  perhaps 
even  worse  that  he  had  played  false  to  his  own  falsity.  The 
elders  were  a  little  less  disturbed.  The  event  was  not  unique 
in  their  experience.  They  had  lived  longer  and  felt  these 


234  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

seismic  shocks  before.  They  could  go  back  into  the  past 
and  find  other  cases  where  a  swift  impulse  had  shattered  the 
edifice  of  a  lifetime.  They  knew  that  the  history  of  fam- 
ilies and  of  communities  is  crowded  with  disillusion.  They 
had  discovered  that  character  is  changeless,  irrepressible, 
incurable.  They  were  aware  of  the  astonishing  fact,  which 
takes  at  least  thirty  years  to  learn,  that  a  Sunday-school 
superintendent  is  a  man.  And  the  suicide  of  Titus  Price, 
when  they  had  realised  it,  served  but  to  confirm  their  most 
secret  and  honest  estimate  of  humanity,  that  estimate  which 
they  never  confided  to  a  soul.  The  young  folk  thought 
the  Methodist  Society  shamed  and  branded  by  the  tragic 
incident,  and  imagined  that  years  must  elapse  before  it  could 
again  hold  up  its  head  in  the  town.  The  old  folk  were  wiser, 
foreseeing  with  certainty  that  in  only  a  few  days  this  all- 
engrossing  phenomenon  would  lose  its  significance,  and  be 
as  though  it  had  never  been. 

Even  in  two  days,  time  had  already  begun  its  work,  for 
by  Tuesday  morning  the  interest  of  the  affair — on  Sunday 
at  the  highest  pitch — had  waned  so  much  that  the  thought 
of  the  inquest  was  capable  of  reviving  it.  Although  every- 
one knew  that  the  case  presented  no  unusual  features,  and 
that  the  coroner's  inquiry  would  be  nothing  more  than  a 
formal  ceremony,  the  almost  greedy  curiosity  of  Methodist 
circles  lifted  it  to  the  level  of  a  cause  celebre.  The  court 
was  filled  with  irreproachable  respectability  when  the  cor- 
oner drove  into  the  town,  and  each  animated  face  said  to 
its  fellow :  "  So  you're  here,  are  you  ?  "  Late  comers  of  the 
official  world — councillors,  guardians  of  the  poor,  members 


THE   DOWNFALL  235 

of  the  school  board,  and  one  or  two  of  their  ladies — were 
forced  to  intrigue  for  room  with  the  police  and  the  town- 
hall  keeper,  and,  having  succeeded,  sank  into  their  narrow 
seats  with  a  sigh  of  expectancy  and  triumph.  Late  comers 
with  less  influence  had  to  retire,  and  by  a  kind  of  sinister 
fascination  were  kept  wandering  about  the  corridor  before 
they  could  decide  to  go  home.  The  market-place  was  occu- 
pied by  hundreds  of  loafers,  who  seemed  to  find  a  mystic 
satisfaction  in  beholding  the  coroner's  dogcart  and  the  ex- 
terior of  the  building  which  now  held  the  corpse. 

It  was  by  accident  that  Anna  was  in  the  town.  She  knew 
that  the  inquest  was  to  occur  that  morning,  but  had  not 
dreamed  of  attending  it.  When,  however,  she  saw  the  stir 
of  excitement  in  the  market-place,  and  the  police  guarding 
the  entrances  of  the  town-hall,  she  walked  directly  across 
the  road,  past  the  two  officers  at  the  east  door,  and  into  the 
dark  main  corridor  of  the  building,  which  was  dotted  with 
small  groups  idly  conversing.  She  was  conscious  of  two 
things:  a  vehement  curiosity,  and  the  existence  somewhere 
in  the  precincts  of  a  dead  body,  unsightly,  monstrous,  calm, 
silent,  careless — the  insensible  origin  of  all  this  simmering 
ferment,  which  disgusted  her  even  while  she  shared  in  it. 
At  a  small  door,  half  hidden  by  a  curtain,  she  was  startled 
to  see  Mynors. 

"  You  here !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  if  painfully  surprised,  and 
shook  hands  with  a  preoccupied  air.  "  They  are  examin- 
ing Willie.  I  came  outside  while  he  was  in  the  witness- 
box." 

"  Is  the  inquest  going  on  in  there?  "  she  asked,  pointing 


236  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

to  the  door.  Each  appeared  to  be  concealing  a  certain 
resentment  against  the  other;  but  this  appearance  was  due 
only  to  nervous  agitation. 

A  policeman  down  the  corridor  called :  "  Mr.  Mynors,  a 
moment."  Henry  hurried  away,  answering  Anna's  ques- 
tion as  he  went :  "  Yes,  in  there.  That's  the  witnesses'  and 
jurors'  door;  but  please  don't  go  in.  I  don't  like  you  to, 
and  it  is  sure  to  upset  you." 

She  opened  the  door  and  went  in.  None  said  nay,  and 
she  found  a  few  inches  of  standing-room  behind  the  jury- 
box.  A  terrible  stench  nauseated  her;  the  chamber  was 
crammed,  and  not  a  window  open.  There  was  silence  in 
the  court — no  one  seemed  to  be  doing  anything ;  but  at  last 
she  perceived  that  the  coroner,  enthroned  on  the  bench  of 
justice,  was  writing,  in  a  book  with  blue  leaves.  In  the 
witness-box  stood  William  Price,  dressed  in  black,  with  kid 
gloves,  not  lounging  in  an  ungainly  attitude,  as  might  have 
been  expected,  but  perfectly  erect ;  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  coroner's  head.  Sarah  Vodrey,  Price's  aged  house- 
keeper, sat  on  a  chair  near  the  witness-box,  weeping  into  a 
black-bordered  handkerchief;  at  intervals  she  raised  her 
small,  wrinkled,  red  face,  with  its  glistening,  inflamed  eyes, 
and  then  buried  it  again  in  the  handkerchief.  The  members 
of  the  jury,  whom  Anna  could  see  only  in  profile,  shuffled 
to  and  fro  on  their  long,  pew-like  seats — they  were  mostly 
workingmen,  shabbily  clothed;  but  the  foreman  was  Mr. 
Leal,  the  provision  dealer,  a  freemason,  and  a  sidesman  at 
the  parish  church.  The  general  public  sat  intent  and  vac- 
uous; their  minds  gaped,  if  not  their  mouths;  occasionally 


THE   DOWNFALL  237 

one  whispered  inaudibly  to  another;  the  jury,  conscious  of 
an  official  status,  exchanged  remarks  in  a  whisper  cour- 
ageously loud.  Several  tall  policemen,  helmet  in  hand, 
stood  in  various  corners  of  the  room,  and  the  coroner's  offi- 
cer sat  near  the  witness-box  to  administer  the  oath.  At 
length  the  coroner  lifted  his  head.  He  was  rather  a  young 
man,  with  a  large,  unintelligent  face;  he  wore  eyeglasses, 
and  his  chin  was  covered  with  a  short,  wavy  beard.  His 
manner  showed  that,  while  secretly  proud  of  his  supreme 
position  in  that  assemblage,  he  was  deliberately  trying  to 
make  it  appear  that  this  exercise  of  judicial  authority  was 
nothing  to  him,  that  in  truth  these  eternal  inquiries,  which 
interested  others  so  deeply,  were  to  him  a  weariness  con- 
scientiously endured. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Price,"  the  coroner  said  blandly,  and  it  was 
plain  that  he  was  being  ceremoniously  polite  to  an  inferior, 
in  obedience  to  the  rules  of  good  form,  "  I  must  ask  you 
some  more  questions.  They  may  be  inconvenient,  even 
painful ;  but  I  am  here  simply  as  the  instrument  of  the  law, 
and  I  must  do  my  duty.  And  these  gentlemen  here,"  he 
waved  a  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  jury,  "  must  be  told 
the  whole  facts  of  the  case.  We  know,  of  course,  that  the 
deceased  committed  suicide — that  has  been  proved  beyond 
doubt ;  but  as  I  say,  we  have  the  right  to  know  more."  He 
paused,  well  satisfied  with  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and  evi- 
dently thinking  that  he  had  said  something  very  weighty 
and  impressive. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  ?  "  Willie  Price  demanded, 
his  broad  Five  Towns  speech  contrasting  with  the  Kensing- 


238  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

Ionian  accents  of  the  coroner.  The  latter,  who  came  origi- 
nally from  Manchester,  was  irritated  by  the  brusque  inter- 
ruption; but  he  controlled  his  annoyance,  at  the  same  time 
glancing  at  the  public,  as  if  to  signify  to  them  that  he  had 
learnt  not  to  take  too  seriously  the  unintentional  rudeness 
characteristic  of  their  district. 

"  You  say  it  was  probably  business  troubles  that  caused 
your  late  father  to  commit  the  rash  act  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  are  sure  there  was  nothing  else  ?  " 

"  What  else  could  there  be  ?  " 

"  Your  late  father  was  a  widower?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Now  as  to  these  business  troubles — what  were 
they?" 

"  We  were  being  pressed  by  creditors." 

"  Were  you  a  partner  with  your  late  father?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh !     You  were  a  partner  with  him !  " 

The  jury  seemed  surprised,  and  the  coroner  wrote  again: 
"  What  was  your  share  in  the  business?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  don't  know?     Surely  that  is  rather  singular?  " 

"  My  father  took  me  in  Co.  not  long  since.  We  signed 
a  deed,  but  I  forget  what  was  in  it.  My  place  was  princi- 
pally on  the  bank,  not  in  the  office." 

"  And  so  you  were  being  pressed  by  creditors  ?  " 

"  Yes.     And  we  were  behind  with  the  rent." 

"  Was  the  landlord  pressing  you,  too?  " 


THE   DOWNFALL  239 

Anna  lowered  her  eyes,  fearful  lest  every  head  had  turned 
towards  her. 

"  Not  then ;  he  had  been — she,  I  mean." 

"  The  landlord  is  a  lady  ?  "  Here  the  coroner  faintly 
smiled.  "  Then,  as  regards  the  landlord,  the  pressure  was 
less  than  it  had  been  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  we  had  paid  some  rent,  and  settled  some  other 
claims." 

"  Does  it  not  seem  strange ?  "  the  coroner  began, 

with  a  suave  air  of  suggesting  an  idea. 

"  If  you  must  know,"  Willie  surprisingly  burst  out,  "  I 
believe  it  was  the  failure  of  a  firm  in  London  that  owed  us 
money  that  caused  father  to  hang  himself." 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  the  coroner.  "  When  did  you  hear  of 
that  failure?" 

"  By  second  post  on  Friday.  Eleven  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"  I  think  we  have  heard  enough,  Mr.  Coroner,"  said  Leal, 
standing  up  in  the  jury-box.  "  We  have  decided  on  our 
verdict." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Price,"  said  the  coroner,  dismissing 
Willie.  He  added,  in  a  tone  of  icy  severity  to  the  foreman : 
"  I  had  concluded  my  examination  of  the  witness."  Then 
he  wrote  further  in  his  book. 

"  Now,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  the  coroner  resumed,  hav- 
ing first  cleared  his  throat,  "  I  think  you  will  agree  with 
me  that  this  is  a  peculiarly  painful  case.  Yet  at  the  same 
time " 

Anna  hastened  from  the  court  as  impulsively  as  she  had 


240  ANNA   OF  THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

entered  it.  She  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  quiet,  silent, 
pitiful  corpse ;  and  all  this  vapid  mouthing  exasperated  her 
beyond  sufferance. 

On  the  Thursday  afternoon,  Anna  was  sitting  alone  in 
the  house,  with  the  Persian  cat  and  a  pile  of  stockings  on 
her  knee,  darning.  Agnes  had  with  sorrow  returned  to 
school ;  Ephraim  was  out.  The  bell  sounded  violently,  and 
Anna,  thinking  that  perhaps  for  some  reason  her  father  had 
chosen  to  enter  by  the  front  door,  ran  to  open  it.  The  vis- 
itor was  Willie  Price ;  he  wore  the  new  black  suit  which  had 
figured  in  the  coroner's  court.  She  invited  him  to  the  par- 
lour and  they  both  sat  down,  tongue-tied.  Now  that  she 
had  learnt  from  his  evidence  given  at  the  inquest  that 
Ephraim  had  not  been  pressing  for  rent  during  her  absence 
in  the  Isle  of  Man,  she  felt  less  like  a  criminal  before  Willie 
than  she  would  have  felt  without  that  assurance.  But  at  the 
best  she  was  nervous,  self-conscious,  and  shamed.  She  sup- 
posed that  he  had  called  to  make  some  arrangement  with 
reference  to  the  tenure  of  the  works,  or,  more  probably,  to 
announce  a  bankruptcy  and  stoppage. 

"Well,  Miss  Tellwright,"  Willie  began,  "I've  buried 
him.  He's  gone." 

The  simple  and  profound  grief,  and  the  restrained  bitter- 
ness against  all  the  world,  which  were  expressed  in  these 
words — the  sole  epitaph  of  Titus  Price — nearly  made  Anna 
cry.  She  would  have  cried,  if  the  cat  had  not  opportunely 
jumped  on  her  knee  again ;  she  controlled  herself  by  dint  of 
stroking  it.  She  sympathised  with  him  more  intensely  in 


THE   DOWNFALL  241 

that  first  moment  of  his  loneliness  than  she  had  ever  sym- 
pathised with  anyone,  even  Agnes.  She  wished  passionately 
to  shield,  shelter,  and  comfort  him,  to  do  something,  however 
small,  to  diminish  his  sorrow  and  humiliation ;  and  this  de- 
spite his  size,  his  ungainliness,  his  coarse  features,  his  rough 
voice,  his  lack  of  all  the  conventional  refinements.  A  single 
look  from  his  guileless  and  timid  eyes  atoned  for  every 
shortcoming.  Yet  she  could  scarcely  open  her  mouth.  She 
knew  not  what  to  say.  She  had  no  phrases  to  soften  the 
frightful  blow  which  Providence  had  dealt  him. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  she  said.  "  You  must  be  relieved  it's 
all  over." 

If  she  could  have  been  Mrs.  Sutton  for  half  an  hour ! 
But  she  was  Anna,  and  her  feelings  could  only  find  outlet 
in  her  eyes.  Happily  young  Price  was  of  those  meek  ones 
who  know  by  instinct  the  language  of  the  eyes. 

"  You've  come  up  about  the  works,  I  suppose  ?  "  she  went 
on. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  Is  your  father  in  ?  I  want  to  see 
him  very  particular." 

"  He  isn't  in  now,"  she  replied :  "  but  he  will  be  back  by 
four  o'clock." 

"  That's  an  hour.  You  don't  know  where  he  is  ?  "  She 
shook  her  head.  "  Well,"  he  continued,  "  I  must  tell  you, 
then.  I've  come  up  to  do  it,  and  do  it  I  must.  I  can't 
come  up  again ;  neither  can  I  wait.  You  remember  that 
bill  of  exchange  as  we  gave  you  some  weeks  back  toward 
rent?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said.     There  was  a  pause.     He  stood  up, 


and  moved  to  the  mantelpiece.  Her  gaze  followed  him 
intently,  but  she  had  no  idea  what  he  was  about  to 
say. 

"  It's  forged,  Miss  Tellwright."  He  sat  down  again, 
and  seemed  calmer,  braver,  ready  to  meet  any  conceivable 
set  of  consequences. 

"  Forged ! "  she  repeated,  not  immediately  grasping  the 
significance  of  the  avowal. 

"  Mr.  Sutton's  name  is  forged  on  it.  So  I  came  to  tell 
your  father ;  but  you'll  do  as  well.  I  feel  as  if  I  should  like 
to  tell  you  all  about  it,"  he  said,  smiling  sadly.  "  Mr. 
Sutton  had  really  given  us  a  bill  for  thirty  pounds,  but  we'd 
paid  that  away  when  Mr.  Tellwright  sent  word  down — you 
remember — that  he  should  put  bailiffs  in  if  he  didn't  have 
twenty-five  pounds  next  day.  We  were  just  turning  the 
corner  then,  father  said  to  me.  There  was  a  goodish  sum 
due  to  us  from  a  London  firm  in  a  month's  time,  and  if  we 
could  only  hold  out  till  then,  father  said  he  could  see  day- 
light for  us.  But  he  knew  as  there'd  be  no  getting  round 
Mr.  Tellwright.  So  he  had  the  idea  of  using  Mr.  Sutton's 
name — just  temporary  like.  He  sent  me  to  the  post-office 
to  buy  a  bill  stamp,  and  he  wrote  out  the  bill  all  but  the 
name.  '  You  take  this  up  to  Tellwright's,'  he  says,  '  and 
ask  'em  to  take  and  hold  it,  and  well  redeem  it,  and  that  '11 
be  all  right.  No  harm  done  there,  Will ! '  he  says.  Then 
he  tries  Sutton's  name  on  the  back  of  an  envelope.  It's  an 
easy  signature,  as  you  know ;  but  he  couldn't  do  it.  '  Here, 
Will,'  he  says,  '  my  old  hand  shakes ;  you  have  a  go,'  and 
he  gives  me  a  letter  of  Sutton's  to  copy  from.  I  did  it  easy 


THE   DOWNFALL  243 

enough  after  a  try  or  two.  '  That  '11  be  all  right,  Will,* 
he  says,  and  I  put  my  hat  on  and  brought  the  bill  up  here. 
That's  the  truth,  Miss  Tellwright.  It  was  the  smash 
of  that  London  firm  that  finished  my  poor  old  father 
off." 

Her  one  feeling  was  the  sense  of  being  herself  a  culprit. 
After  all,  it  was  her  father's  action,  more  than  any- 
thing else,  that  had  led  to  the  suicide,  and  he  was  her 
agent. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Price,"  she  said  foolishly,  "  whatever  shall  you 
do?" 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  done,"  he  replied.  "  It  was  bound 
to  be.  It's  our  luck.  We'd  no  thought  but  what  we  should 
bring  you  thirty  pound  in  cash  and  get  that  bit  of  paper 
back,  and  rip  it  up,  and  no  one  the  worse.  But  we  were 
always  unlucky,  me  and  him.  All  you've  got  to  do  is  just 
to  tell  your  father,  and  say  I'm  ready  to  go  to  the  police- 
station  when  he  gives  the  word.  It's  a  bad  business,  but 
I'm  ready  for  it." 

"  Can't  we  do  something?  "  she  naively  inquired,  with  a 
vision  of  a  trial  and  sentence,  and  years  of  prison. 

"  Your  father  keeps  the  bill,  r.oesn't  he?     Not  you?  " 

"  I  could  ask  him  to  destroy  it." 

"  He  wouldn't,"  said  Willie.  "  You'll  excuse  me  saying 
that,  Miss  Tellwright,  but  he  wouldn't." 

He  rose  as  if  to  go,  bitterly.  As  for  Anna,  she  knew  well 
that  her  father  would  never  permit  the  bill  to  be  destroyed. 
But  at  any  cost  she  meant  to  comfort  him  then,  to  ease  his 
lot,  to  send  him  away  less  grievous  than  he  came. 


244  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  Listen !  "  she  said,  standing  up,  and  abandoning  the 
cat,  "  I  will  see  what  can  be  done.  Yes.  Something  shall 
be  done — something  or  other.  I  will  come  and  see  you 
at  the  works  to-morrow  afternoon.  You  may  rely  on 
me." 

She  saw  hope  brighten  his  eyes  at  the  earnestness  and 
resolution  of  her  tone,  and  she  felt  richly  rewarded.  He 
never  said  another  word,  but  gripped  her  hand  with  such 
force  that  she  flinched  in  pain.  When  he  had  gone,  she 
perceived  clearly  the  dire  dilemma ;  but  cared  nothing,  in  the 
first  bliss  of  having  reassured  him. 

During  tea  it  occurred  to  her  that  as  soon  as  Agnes  had 
gone  to  bed  she  would  put  the  situation  plainly  before  her 
father,  and,  for  the  first  and  last  time  in  life,  assert  herself. 
She  would  tell  him  that  the  affair  was,  after  all,  entirely 
her  own,  she  would  firmly  demand  possession  of  the  bill  of 
exchange,  and  she  would  insist  on  it  being  destroyed.  She 
would  point  out  to  the  old  man  that,  her  promise  having 
been  given  to  Willie  Price,  no  other  course  than  this  was 
possible.  In  planning  this  night-surprise  on  her  father's 
obstinacy,  she  found  argument  after  argument  auspicious 
of  its  success.  The  formidable  tyrant  was  at  last  to  meet 
his  equal,  in  force,  in  resolution,  and  in  pugnacity.  The 
swiftness  of  her  onrush  would  sweep  him,  for  once,  off  his 
feet.  At  whatever  cost,  she  was  bound  to  win,  even  though 
victory  resulted  in  eternal  enmity  between  father  and 
daughter.  She  saw  herself  towering  over  him,  morally, 
with  blazing  eye  and  scornful  nostril.  And,  thus  meditat- 
ing on  the  grandeur  of  her  adventure,  she  fed  her  courage 


THE   DOWNFALL  245 

with  indignation.  By  the  act  of  death,  Titus  Price  had 
put  her  father  forever  in  the  wrong.  His  corpse  accused 
the  miser,  and  Anna,  incapable  now  of  seeing  aught  save 
the  pathos  of  suicide,  acquiesced  in  the  accusation  with  all 
the  strength  of  her  remorse.  She  did  not  reason — she  felt ; 
reason  was  shrivelled  up  in  the  fire  of  emotion.  She  almost 
trembled  with  the  urgency  of  her  desire  to  protect  from 
further  shame  the  figure  of  Willie  Price,  so  frank,  simple, 
innocent,  and  big;  and  to  protect  also  the  lifeless  and  dis- 
honoured body  of  his  parent.  She  reviewed  the  whole  cir- 
cumstances again  and  again,  each  time  finding  less  excuse 
for  her  father's  implacable  and  fatal  cruelty. 

So  her  thoughts  ran  until  the  appointed  hour  of  Agnes's 
bedtime.  It  was  always  necessary  to  remind  Agnes  of  that 
hour ;  left  to  herself,  the  child  would  have  stayed  up  till  the 
very  Day  of  Judgment.  The  clock  struck,  but  Anna  kept 
silence.  To  utter  the  word  "  bedtime  "  to  Agnes  was  to 
open  the  attack  on  her  father,  and  she  felt  as  the  conductor 
of  an  opera  feels  before  setting  in  motion  a  complicated 
activity  which  may  end  in  either  triumph  or  an  unspeakable 
fiasco.  The  child  was  reading;  Anna  looked  and  looked 
at  her,  and  at  length  her  lips  were  set  for  the  phrase, 
"  Now,  Agnes,"  when,  suddenly,  the  old  man  forestalled 
her: 

"  Is  that  wench  going  for  sit  here  all  night  ?  "  he  asked 
of  Anna  menacingly. 

Agnes  shut  her  book  and  crept  away. 

This  accident  was  the  ruin  of  Anna's  scheme.  Her 
father,  always  the  favourite  of  circumstance,  had  by  chance 


246  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

struck  the  first  blow;  ignorant  of  the  battle  that  awaited 
him,  he  had  unwittingly  won  it  by  putting  her  in  the  wrong, 
as  Titus  Price  had  put  him  in  the  wrong.  She  knew  in  a 
flash  that  her  enterprise  was  hopeless;  she  knew  that  her 
father's  position  in  regard  to  her  was  impregnable,  that  no 
moral  force,  no  consciousness  of  right,  would  avail  to  over- 
throw that  authority  which  she  had  herself  made  absolute 
by  a  life-long  submission.  She  knew  that  face  to  face  with 
her  father  she  was,  and  would  always  be,  a  coward.  And 
now,  instead  of  finding  arguments  for  success,  she  found 
arguments  for  failure.  She  divined  all  the  retorts  that  he 
would  fling  at  her.  What  about  Mr.  Sutton — in  a  sense  the 
victim  of  this  fraud?  It  was  not  merely  a  matter  of  thirty 
pounds.  A  man's  name  had  been  used.  Was  he,  Ephraim 
Tellwright,  and  she,  his  daughter,  to  connive  at  a  felony? 
The  felony  was  done,  and  could  not  be  undone.  Were  they 
to  render  themselves  liable,  even  in  theory,  to  a  criminal 
prosecution?  If  Titus  Price  had  killed  himself,  what  of 
that?  If  Willie  Price  was  threatened  with  ruin,  what  of 
that?  Them  as  made  the  bed  must  lie  on  it.  At  the  best, 
and  apart  from  any  forgery,  the  Prices  had  swindled  their 
creditors;  even  in  dying,  old  Price  had  been  guilty  of  a 
commercial  swindle.  And  was  the  fact  that  father  and  son 
between  them  had  committed  a  direct  and  flagrant  crime  to 
serve  as  an  excuse  for  sympathising  with  the  survivor?  Why 
was  Anna  so  anxious  to  shield  the  forger  ?  What  claim  had 
he?  A  forger  was  a  forger,  and  that  was  the  end 
of  it. 

She  went  to  bed  without  opening  her  mouth.     Irresolute, 


THE   DOWNFALL  247 

shamed,  and  despairing,  she  tried  to  pray  for  guidance, 
but  she  could  bring  no  sincerity  of  appeal  into  this  prayer ; 
it  seemed  an  empty  form.  Where,  indeed,  was  her  religion? 
She  was  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  the  fervour  of  her  as- 
pirations had  been  steadily  cooling  for  weeks.  She  was 
not  a  whit  more  a  true  Christian  now  than  she  had  been 
before  the  Revival;  it  appeared  that  she  was  incapable  of 
real  religion,  possibly  one  of  those  souls  foreordained  to 
damnation. 

This  admission  added  to  the  general  sense  of  fu- 
tility, and  increased  her  misery.  She  lay  awake  for 
hours,  confronting  her  deliberate  promise  to  Willie  Price. 
Something  shall  be  done.  Rely  on  me.  He  was  relying 
on  her,  then.  But  on  whom  could  she  rely?  To  whom 
could  she  turn  ?  It  is  significant  that  the  idea  of  confiding 
in  Henry  Mynors  did  not  present  itself  for  a  single  moment 
as  practical.  Mynors  had  been  kind  to  Willie  in  his  trouble, 
but  Anna  almost  resented  this  kindness  on  account  of  the 
condescending  superiority  which  she  thought  she  detected 
therein.  It  was  as  though  she  had  overheard  Mynors  say- 
ing to  himself :  "  Here  is  this  poor,  crushed  worm.  It  is 
my  duty  as  a  Christian  to  pity  and  succour  him.  I  will 
do  so.  I  am  a  righteous  man."  The  thought  of  anyone 
stooping  to  Willie  was  hateful  to  her.  She  felt  equal  with 
him,  as  a  mother  feels  equal  with  her  child  when  it  cries  and 
she  soothes  it.  And  she  felt,  in  another  way,  that  he  was 
equal  with  her,  as  she  thought  of  his  sturdy  and  simple  con- 
fession, and  of  the  loyal  love  in  his  voice  when  he  spoke  of 
his  father.  She  liked  him  for  hurting  her  hand,  and  for 


248  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

refusing  to  snatch  at  the  slender  chance  of  her  father's 
clemency.  She  could  never  reveal  Willie's  sin,  if  it  was  a 
sin,  to  Henry  Mynors — that  symbol  of  correctness  and  of 
success.  She  had  fraternised  with  sinners,  like  Christ ;  and, 
with  amazing  injustice,  she  was  capable  of  deeming  Mynors 
a  Pharisee  because  she  could  not  find  fault  with  him,  because 
he  lived  and  loved  so  impeccably  and  so  triumphantly. 
There  was  only  one  person  from  whom  she  could  have  asked 
advice  and  help,  and  that  wise  and  consoling  heart  was  far 
away  in  the  Isle  of  Man. 

"Why  won't  father  give  up  the  bill?"  she  demanded, 
half-aloud,  in  sullen  wrath.  She  could  not  frame  the  an- 
swer in  words,  but  nevertheless  she  knew  it  and  felt  it.  Such 
an  act  of  grace  would  have  been  impossible  to  her  father's 
nature — that  was  all. 

Suddenly  the  expression  of  her  face  changed  from  utter 
disgust  into  a  bitter  and  proud  smile.  Without  thinking 
further,  without  daring  to  think,  she  rose  out  of  bed  and, 
night-gowned  and  barefooted,  crept  with  infinite  precaution 
downstairs.  The  oilcloth  on  the  stairs  froze  her  feet ;  a  cold 
grey  light,  issuing  through  the  glass  square  over  the  front 
door,  showed  that  dawn  was  beginning.  The  door  of  the 
front-parlour  was  shut;  she  opened  it  gently,  and  went 
within.  Every  object  in  the  room  was  faintly  visible,  the 
bureau,  the  chair,  the  files  of  papers,  the  pictures,  the  books 
on  the  mantelshelf,  and  the  safe  in  the  corner.  The  bureau, 
she  knew,  was  never  locked ;  fear  of  their  father  had  always 
kept  its  privacy  inviolate  from  Anna  and  Agnes,  without 
the  aid  of  a  key.  As  Anna  stood  in  front  of  it,  a  shaking 


THE   DOWNFALL  249 

figure  with  hair  hanging  loose,  she  dimly  remembered  hav- 
ing one  day  seen  a  blue  paper  among  white  in  the  pigeon- 
holes. But  if  the  bill  was  not  there  she  vowed  that  she  would 
steal  her  father's  keys  while  he  slept,  and  force  the  safe. 
She  opened  the  bureau,  and  at  once  saw  the  edge  of  a  blue 
paper  corresponding  with  her  recollection.  She  pulled 
it  forth  and  scanned  it.  "  Three  months  after  date 
pay  to  our  order  .  .  .  Accepted  payable,  William 
Sutton." 

So  here  was  the  forgery,  here  the  two  words  for  which 
Willie  Price  might  have  gone  to  prison !  What  a  trifle !  She 
tore  the  flimsy  document  to  bits,  and  crumpled  the  bits  into 
a  little  ball.  How  should  she  dispose  of  the  ball?  After 
a  moment's  reflection  she  went  into  the  kitchen,  stretched  on 
tiptoe  to  reach  the  match-box  from  the  high  mantelpiece, 
struck  a  match,  and  burnt  the  ball  in  the  grate.  Then, 
with  a  restrained  and  sinister  laugh,  she  ran  softly 
upstairs. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Anna?  "  Agnes  was  sitting  up  in 
bed,  wide  awake. 

"  Nothing ;  go  to  sleep,  and  don't  bother,"  Anna  angrily 
whispered. 

Had  she  closed  the  lid  of  the  bureau  ?  She  was  compelled 
to  return  in  order  to  make  sure.  Yes,  it  was  closed.  When 
at  length  she  lay  in  bed,  breathless,  her  heart  violently  beat- 
ing, her  feet  like  icicles,  she  realised  what  she  had  done. 
She  had  saved  Willie  Price,  but  she  had  ruined  herself  with 
her  father.  M  She  knew  well  that  he  would  never  forgive 
her. 


250  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

On  the  following  afternoon  she  planned  to  hurry  to  Ed- 
ward Street  and  back  while  Ephraim  and  Agnes  were  both 
out  of  the  house.  But  for  some  reason  her  father  sat  per- 
sistently after  dinner,  conning  a  sale  catalogue.  At  a 
quarter  to  three  he  had  not  moved.  She  decided  to  go  at 
any  risks.  She  put  on  her  hat  and  jacket,  and  opened 
the  front  door.  He  heard  her. 

"  Anna !  "  he  called  sharply.  She  obeyed  the  summons 
in  terror.  "  Art  going  out?  " 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  Where  to?  " 

"  Down  town  to  buy  some  things." 

"  Seems  thou'rt  always  buying." 

That  was  all;  he  let  her  free.  In  an  unworthy  attempt 
to  appease  her  conscience  she  did  in  fact  go  first  into  the 
town ;  she  bought  some  wool ;  the  trick  was  despicable.  Then 
she  hastened  to  Edward  Street.  The  decrepit  works  seemed 
to  have  undergone  no  change.  She  had  expected  the  busi- 
ness would  be  suspended,  and  Willie  Price  alone  on  the  bank ; 
but  manufacture  was  proceeding  as  usual.  She  went  direct 
to  the  office,  fancying,  as  she  climbed  the  stairs,  that  every 
window  of  all  the  workshops  was  full  of  eyes  to  discern  her 
purpose.  Without  knocking,  she  pushed  against  the  un- 
latched door  and  entered.  Willie  was  lolling  in  his  father's 
chair,  gloomy,  meditative,  apparently  idle.  He  was  coat- 
less,  and  wore  a  dirty  apron ;  a  battered  hat  was  at  the  back 
of  his  head,  and  his  great  hands,  which  lay  on  the  desk  in 
front  of  him,  were  soiled.  He  sprang  up,  flushing  red,  and 
she  shut  the  door;  they  were  alone  together. 


THE   DOWNFALL  261 

"  I'm  all  in  my  dirt,"  he  murmured  apologetically.  Sim- 
ple and  silly  creature,  to  imagine  that  she  cared  for  his 
dirt! 

"  It's  all  right,"  she  said ;  "  you  needn't  worry  any  more. 
It's  all  right."  They  were  glorious  words  for  her,  and  her 
face  shone. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  he  asked  gruffly. 

"  Why,"  she  smiled,  full  of  happiness,  "  I  got  that  paper 
and  burnt  it !  " 

He  looked  at  her  exactly  as  if  he  had  not  understood. 
"  Does  your  father  know  ?  " 

She  still  smiled  at  him  happily.  "  No ;  but  I 
shall  tell  him  this  afternoon.  It's  all  right.  I've 
burnt  it." 

He  sank  down  in  the  chair,  and,  laying  his  head  on  the 
desk,  burst  into  sobbing  tears.  She  stood  over  him,  and 
put  a  hand  on  the  sleeve  of  his  shirt.  At  that  touch  he 
sobbed  more  violently. 

"  Mr.  Price,  what  is  it  ?  "  She  asked  the  question  in  a 
calm,  soothing  tone. 

He  glanced  up  at  her,  his  face  wet,  yet  apparently  not 
shamed  by  the  tears.  She  could  not  meet  his  gaze  without 
herself  crying,  and  so  she  turned  her  head.  "  I  was  only 
thinking,"  he  stammered,  "  only  thinking — what  an  angel 
you  are." 

Only  the  meek,  the  timid,  the  silent,  can,  in  moments  of 
deep  feeling,  use  this  language  of  hyperbole  without  seem- 
ing ridiculous. 

He  was  her  great  child,  and  she  knew  that  he  worshipped 


252 

her.  Oh,  ineffable  power,  that  out  of  misfortune  canst 
create  divine  happiness ! 

Later,  he  remarked  in  his  ordinary  tone :  "  I  was  expect- 
ing your  father  here  this  afternoon  about  the  lease.  There 
is  to  be  a  deed  of  arrangement  with  the  creditors." 

"  My  father ! "  she  exclaimed,  and  she  bade  him  good- 
bye. 

As  she  passed  under  the  archway  she  heard  a  familiar 
voice :  "  I  reckon  I  shall  find  young  Mester  Price  in  th' 
office?  "  Ephraim,  who  had  wandered  into  the  packing- 
house, turned  and  saw  her  through  the  doorway ;  a  second's 
delay,  and  she  would  have  escaped.  She  stood  waiting  the 
storm,  and  then  they  walked  out  into  the  road  together. 

"  Anna,  what  art  doing  here  ?  " 

She  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

"  What  art  doing  here?  "  he  repeated  coldly. 

"  Father,  I — was  just  going  back  home." 

He  hesitated  an  instant.  "  I'll  go  with  thee,"  he  said. 
They  walked  to  Manor  Terrace  in  silence.  They  had  tea 
in  silence;  except  that  Agnes,  with  dreadful  inopportune- 
ness,  continually  worried  her  father  for  a  definite  promise 
that  she  might  leave  school  at  Christmas.  The  idea  was 
preposterous;  but  Agnes,  fired  by  her  recent  success  as  a 
housekeeper,  clung  to  it.  Ignorant  of  her  imminent  danger, 
and  misinterpreting  the  signs  of  his  face,  she  at  last  pushed 
her  insistence  too  far. 

"  Get  to  bed,  this  minute,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  suddenly 
terrible.  She  perceived  her  error  then,  but  it  was  too  lafe. 
Looking  wistfully  at  Anna,  the  child  fled. 


THE    DOWNFALL  253 

**  I  was  told  this  morning,  miss,"  Ephraim  began,  as  soon 
as  Agnes  was  gone,  "  that  young  Price  had  bin  seen  coming 
to  this  house  'ere  yesterday  afternoon.  I  thought  as  it  was 
strange  as  thoud'st  said  nowt  about  it  to  thy  feyther;  but 
I  never  suspected  as  a  daughter  o'  mine  was  up  to  any  tricks. 
There  was  a  hang-dog  look  on  thy  face  this  afternoon  when 
I  asked  where  thou  wast  going,  but  I  didna'  think  thou  wast 
lying  to  me." 

"  I  wasn't,"  she  began,  and  stopped. 

"  Thou  wast !  Now,  what  is  it  ?  What's  this  carry- 
ing-on between  thee  and  Will  Price?  I'll  have  it  out  of 
thee." 

"  There  is  no  carrying-on,  father." 

"Then  why  hast  thou  gotten  secrets?  Why  dost  go 
sneaking  about  to  see  him — sneaking,  creeping,  like  any 
brazen  moll  ?  " 

The  miser  was  wounded  in  the  one  spot  where  there  re- 
mained to  him  any  sentiment  capable  of  being  wounded :  his 
faith  in  the  irreproachable,  absolute  chastity,  in  thought 
and  deed,  of  his  womankind. 

"  Willie  Price  came  in  here  yesterday,"  Anna  began, 
white  and  calm,  "  to  see  you.  But  you  weren't  in.  So  he 
saw  me.  He  told  me  that  bill  of  exchange,  that  blue  paper, 
for  thirty  pounds,  was  forged.  He  said  he  had  forged 
Mr.  Button's  name  on  it."  She  stopped,  expecting  the 
thunder. 

"  Get  on  with  thy  tale,"  said  Ephraim,  breathing 
loudly. 

"  He  said  he  was  ready  to  go  to  prison  as  soon  as  you 


254  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

gave  the  word.  But  I  told  him,  '  No  such  thing ! '  I  said 
it  must  be  settled  quietly.  I  told  him  to  leave  it  to  me.  He 
was  driven  to  the  forgery,  and  I  thought " 

"  Dost  mean  to  say,"  the  miser  shouted,  "  as  that  blasted 
scoundrel  came  here  and  told  thee  he'd  forged  a  bill,  and 
thou  told  him  to  leave  it  to  thee  to  settle  ?  "  Without  wait- 
ing for  an  answer,  he  jumped  up  and  strode  to  the  door, 
evidently  with  the  intention  of  examining  the  forged  docu- 
ment for  himself. 

"  It  isn't  there — it  isn't  there ! "  Anna  called  to  him 
wildly. 

"  What  Isna'  there?" 

"  The  paper.  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  father.  I  got  up 
early  this  morning  and  burnt  it." 

The  man  was  staggered  at  this  audacious  and  astounding 
impiety. 

"  It  was  mine,  really,"  she  continued ;  "  and  I 
thought " 

"  Thou  thought !  " 

Agnes,  upstairs,  heard  that  passionate  and  consuming 
roar.  "  Shame  on  thee,  Anna  Tellwright !  Shame  on  thee 
for  a  shameless  hussy  !  A  daughter  o'  mine,  and  just  prom- 
ised to  another  man !  Thou'rt  an  accomplice  in  forgery. 

Thou  sees  the  scamp  on  the  sly !  Thou "  He  paused, 

and  then  added,  with  furious  scorn :  "  Shalt  speak  o'  this 
to  Henry  Mynors  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  him  if  you  like,"  she  said  proudly. 

"  Look  thee  here ! "  he  hissed,  "  if  thou  breathes  a  word 
o'  this  to  Henry  Mynors,  or  any  other  man,  I'll  cut  thy 


THE   DOWNFALL  255 

tongue  out.  A  daughter  o*  mine!  If  thou  breathes  a 
word " 

"  I  shall  not,  father." 

It  was  finished ;  grey  with  frightful  anger,  Ephraim  left 
the  room. 


XII:  AT  THE   PRIORY 

SHE  was  not  to  be  pardoned :  the  offence  was  too  mon- 
strous, daring,  and  final.  At  the  same  time,  the  un- 
appeasable ire  of  the  old  man  tended  to  weaken  his 
power  over  her.  All  her  life  she  had  been  terrorised  by  the 
fear  of  a  wrath  which  had  never  reached  the  superlative  de- 
gree until  that  day.  Now  that  she  had  seen  and  felt  the 
limit  of  his  anger,  she  became  aware  that  she  could  endure 
it;  the  curse  was  heavy,  and  perhaps  more  irksome  than 
heavy,  but  she  survived ;  she  continued  to  breathe,  eat,  drink, 
and  sleep ;  her  father's  power  stopped  short  of  annihilation. 
Here,  too,  was  a  satisfaction :  that  things  could  not  be  worse. 
And  still  greater  comfort  lay  in  the  fact  that  she  had  not 
only  accomplished  the  deliverance  of  Willie  Price,  but  had 
secured  absolute  secrecy  concerning  the  episode. 

The  next  day  was  Saturday,  when,  after  breakfast,  it  was 
Ephraim's  custom  to  give  Anna  the  weekly  sovereign  for 
housekeeping. 

"  Here,  Agnes,"  he  said,  turning  in  his  armchair  to  face 
the  child,  and  drawing  a  sovereign  from  his  waistcoat- 
pocket,  "  take  charge  o'  this,  and  mind  ye  make  it  go  as  far 
as  ye  can."  His  tone  conveyed  a  subsidiary  message :  "  I 
am  terribly  angry,  but  I  am  not  angry  with  you.  However, 
behave  yourself." 

The  child  mechanically  took  the  coin,  scared  by  this  proof 
of  an  unprecedented  domestic  convulsion.  Anna,  with  a 

256 


AT  THE  PRIORY  257 

tightening  of  the  lips,  rose  and  went  into  the  kitchen. 
Agnes  followed,  after  a  discreet  interval,  and  in  silence  gave 
up  the  sovereign. 

"  What  is  it  all  about,  Anna?  "  she  ventured  to  ask  that 
night. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Anna  curtly. 

The  question  had  needed  some  courage,  for,  at  certain 
times,  Agnes  would  as  easily  have  trifled  with  her  father 
as  with  Anna.  From  that  moment,  with  the  passive  fatalism 
characteristic  of  her  years,  Agnes*  spirits  began  to  rise 
again  to  the  normal  level.  She  accepted  the  new  situation, 
and  fitted  herself  into  it  with  a  child's  adaptability.  If 
Anna  naturally  felt  a  slight  resentment  against  this  too  im- 
partial and  apparently  callous  attitude  on  the  part  of  the 
child,  she  never  showed  it. 

Nearly  a  week  later  Anna  received  a  postcard  from  Bea- 
trice announcing  her  complete  recovery,  and  the  immediate 
return  of  her  parents  and  herself  to  Bursley.  That  same 
afternoon  a  cab  encumbered  with  much  luggage  passed  up 
the  street  as  Anna  was  fixing  clean  curtains  in  her  father's 
bedroom.  Beatrice,  on  the  look-out,  waved  a  hand  and 
smiled,  and  Anna  responded  to  the  signals.  She  was  glad 
now  that  the  Suttons  had  come  back,  though  for  several 
days  she  had  almost  forgotten  their  existence.  On  the  Sat- 
urday afternoon,  Mynors  called.  Anna  was  in  the  kitchen ; 
she  heard  him  scuffling  with  Agnes  in  the  lobby,  and  then 
talking  to  her  father.  Three  times  she  had  seen  him  since 
her  disgrace,  and  each  time  the  secret  bitterness  of  her  soul, 
despite  conscientious  effort  to  repress  it,  had  marred  the 


258  ANNA  OP  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

meeting — it  had  been  plain,  indeed,  that  she  was  profoundly 
disturbed ;  he  had  affected  at  first  not  to  observe  the  change 
in  her,  and  she,  anticipating  his  questions,  hinted  briefly 
that  the  trouble  was  with  her  father,  and  had  no  reference 
to  himself,  and  that  she  preferred  not  to  discuss  it  at  all; 
reassured,  and  too  young  in  courtship  yet  to  presume  on  a 
lover's  rights,  he  respected  her  wish,  and  endeavoured  by 
every  art  to  restore  her  to  equanimity.  This  time,  as  she 
went  to  greet  him  in  the  parlour,  she  resolved  that  he  should 
see  no  more  of  the  shadow.  He  noticed  instantly  the  differ- 
ence in  her  face. 

"  I've  come  to  take  you  into  Suttons'  for  tea — and  for 
the  evening,"  he  said  eagerly.  "  You  must  come.  They 
are  very  anxious  to  see  you.  I've  told  your  father,"  he 
added.  Ephraim  had  vanished  into  his  office. 

"  What  did  he  say,  Henry?  "  she  asked  timidly. 

"  He  said  you  must  please  yourself,  of  course.  Come 
along,  love.  Mustn't  she,  Agnes?  " 

Agnes  concurred,  and  said  that  she  would  get  her  father's 
tea,  and  his  supper  too. 

"  You  will  come,"  he  urged.  She  nodded,  smiling 
thoughtfully,  and  he  kissed  her,  for  the  first  time  in  front 
of  Agnes,  who  was  filled  with  pride  at  this  proof  of  their 
confidence  in  her. 

"  I'm  ready,  Henry,"  Anna  said,  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
later,  and  they  went  across  to  Suttons'. 

"  Anna,  tell  me  all  about  it,"  Beatrice  burst  out  when  she 
and  Anna  had  fled  to  her  bedroom.  "  I'm  so  glad.  Do  you 
love  him  really — truly?  He's  dreadfully  fond  of  you. 


AT   THE  PRIORY  259 

He  told  me  so  this  morning ;  we  had  quite  a  long  chat  in  the 
market.  I  think  you're  both  very  lucky,  you  know."  She 
kissed  Anna  effusively  for  the  third  time.  Anna  looked  at 
her,  smiling  but  silent. 

"Well?"  Beatrice  said. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  say  ?  " 

"  Oh !  You  are  the  funniest  girl,  Anna,  I  ever  met. 
'  What  do  you  want  me  to  say,'  indeed !  "  Beatrice  added 
in  a  different  tone :  "  Don't  imagine  this  affair  was  the  least 
bit  of  a  surprise  to  us.  It  wasn't.  The  fact  is,  Henry 
had — oh !  well,  never  mind.  Do  you  know,  mother  and  dad 
used  to  think  there  was  something  between  Henry  and  me. 
But  there  wasn't,  you  know — not  really.  I  tell  you  that, 
so  that  you  won't  be  able  to  say  you  were  kept  in  the  dark. 
When  shall  you  be  married,  Anna?  " 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea,"  Anna  replied,  and  began  to 
question  Beatrice  about  her  convalescence. 

"  I'm  perfectly  well,"  Beatrice  said.  "  It's  always  the 
same.  If  I  catch  anything  I  catch  it  bad  and  get  it  over 
quickly." 

"  Now,  how  long  are  you  two  chatterboxes  going  to  stay 
here?  "  It  was  Mrs.  Sutton  who  came  into  the  room.  "  Bee, 
you've  got  those  sewing-meeting  letters  to  write.  Eh, 
Anna,  but  I'm  glad  of  this.  You'll  make  him  a  good  wife. 
You  two  '11  just  suit  each  other." 

Anna  could  not  but  be  impressed  by  this  unaffected 
joy  of  her  friends  in  the  engagement.  Her  spirits 
rose,  and  once  more  she  saw  visions  of  future  happiness.  At 
tea,  Alderman  Sutton  added  his  felicitations  to  the  rest,  with 


260  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE   TOWNS 

that  flattering  air  of  intimate  sympathy  and  comprehension 
which  some  middle-aged  men  can  adopt  towards  young 
girls.  The  tea,  made  specially  magnificent  in  honour  of  the 
betrothal,  was  such  a  meal  as  could  only  have  been  com- 
passed in  Staffordshire  or  Yorkshire — a  high  tea  of  the 
last  richness  and  excellence,  exquisitely  gracious  to  the 
palate,  but  ruthless  in  its  demands  on  the  stomach.  At 
one  end  of  the  table,  which  glittered  with  silver,  glass,  and 
Longshaw  china,  was  a  fowl  which  had  been  boiled  for  four 
hours ;  at  the  other,  a  hot  pork-pie,  islanded  in  liquor,  which 
might  have  satisfied  a  regiment.  Between  these  two  dishes 
were  all  the  delicacies  which  differentiate  high  tea  from 
tea,  and  on  the  quality  of  which  the  success  of  the  meal 
really  depends;  hot  pikelets,  hot  crumpets,  hot  toast,  sar- 
dines with  tomatoes,  raisin-bread,  currant-bread,  seed-cake, 
lettuce,  home-made  marmalade  and  home-made  jams.  The 
repast  occupied  over  an  hour,  and  even  then  not  a  quarter 
of  the  food  was  consumed.  Surrounded  by  all  that  good 
fare  and  good  will,  with  the  Alderman  on  her  left,  Henry 
on  her  right,  and  a  bright  fire  in  front  of  her,  Anna  quickly 
caught  the  gaiety  of  the  others.  She  forgot  everything 
but  the  gladness  of  reunion,  the  joy  of  the  moment,  the 
luxurious  comfort  of  the  house.  Conversation  was  busy 
with  the  doings  of  the  Suttons  at  Port  Erin  after  Anna  and 
Henry  had  left.  A  listener  would  have  caught  fragments 
like  this :  "  You  know  such-and-such  a  point.  .  .  .  No, 
not  there,  over  the  hill.  Well,  we  hired  a  carriage 
and  drove.  .  .  .  The  weather  was  simply.  .  .  .  Tom 
Kelly  said  he'd  never.  .  .  .  And  that  little  guard 


AT   THE  PRIORY  261 

on  the  railway  came  all  the  way  down  to  the  steamer. 
.  .  .  Did  you  see  anything  in  the  *  Signal  *  about 
the  actress  being  drowned?  Oh!  It  was  awfully  sad. 
We  saw  the  corpse  just  after.  .  .  .  Beatrice,  will  you 
hush?  " 

"Wasn't  it  terrible  about  Titus  Price?"  Beatrice  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Eh,  my ! "  sighed  Mrs.  Sutton,  glancing  at  Anna. 
"  You  can  never  tell  what's  going  to  happen  next.  I'm 
always  afraid  to  go  away  for  fear  of  something  happen- 
ing." 

A  silence  followed.  When  tea  was  finished  Beatrice  was 
taken  away  by  her  mother  to  write  the  letters  concerning 
the  immediate  resumption  of  sewing  meetings,  and  for  a 
little  time  Anna  was  left  in  the  drawing-room  alone  with  the 
two  men,  who  began  to  talk  about  the  affairs  of  the  Prices. 
It  appeared  that  Mr.  Sutton  had  been  asked  to  become 
trustee  for  the  creditors  under  a  deed  of  arrangement,  and 
that  he  had  hopes  of  being  able  to  sell  the  business  as  a 
going  concern.  In  the  meantime  it  would  need  careful  man- 
agement. 

"  Will  Willie  Price  manage  it?  "  Anna  inquired.  The 
question  seemed  to  divert  Henry  and  the  Alderman,  to  af- 
ford them  a  contemptuous  and  somewhat  inimical  amuse- 
ment at  the  expense  of  Willie. 

"  No,"  said  the  Alderman  quietly,  but  emphatically. 

"  Master  William  is  fairly  good  on  the  works,"  said 
Henry ;  "  but  in  the  office,  I  imagine,  he  is  worse  than  use- 
less." 


262  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

Grieved  and  confused,  Anna  bent  down  and  moved  a  has- 
sock in  order  to  hide  her  face.  The  attitude  of  these  men 
to  Willie  Price,  that  victim  of  circumstances  and  of  his  own 
simplicity,  wounded  Anna  inexpressibly.  She  perceived 
that  they  could  see  in  him  only  a  defaulting  debtor,  that 
his  misfortune  made  no  appeal  to  their  charity.  She  won- 
dered that  men  so  warm-hearted  and  kind  in  some  relations 
could  be  so  hard  in  others. 

"  I  had  a  talk  with  your  father  at  the  creditors'  meeting 
yesterday,"  said  the  Alderman.  "  You  won*t  lose  much. 
Of  course  you've  got  a  preferential  claim  for  six  months' 
rent." 

He  said  this  reassuringly,  as  though  it  would  give  satis- 
faction. Anna  did  not  know  what  a  preferential  claim 
might  be,  nor  was  she  aware  of  any  creditors'  meeting.  She 
wished  ardently  that  she  might  lose  as  much  as  possible — 
hundreds  of  pounds.  She  was  relieved  when  Beatrice  swept 
in,  her  mother  following. 

"  Now,  your  worship,"  said  Beatrice  to  her  father, 
"  seven  stamps  for  these  letters,  please."  Anna  glanced 
up  inquiringly  on  hearing  the  form  of  address.  "  You 
don't  mean  to  say  you  didn't  know  that  father  is  going  to 
be  mayor  this  year?  "  Beatrice  asked,  as  if  shocked  at  this 
ignorance  of  affairs.  "  Yes,  it  was  all  settled  rather  late, 
wasn't  it,  dad?  And  the  mayor-elect  pretends  not  to  care 
much,  but  actually  he  is  filled  with  pride,  isn't  he,  dad? 
As  for  the  mayoress ?  " 

"  Eh,  Bee !  "  Mrs.  Sutton  stopped  her,  smiling ;  "  you'll 
tumble  over  that  tongue  of  yours  some  day." 


AT   THE  PRIORY  263 

"  Mother  said  I  wasn't  to  mention  it,"  said  Beatrice,  "  lest 
you  should  think  we  were  putting  on  airs." 

"  Nay,  not  I !  "  Mrs.  Sutton  protested.  "  I  said  no  such 
thing.  Anna  knows  us  too  well  for  that.  But  I'm  not  so 
set  up  with  this  mayor  business  as  some  people  will  think 
I  am." 

"  Or  as  Beatrice  is,"  Mynors  added. 

At  half-past  eight,  and  again  at  nine,  Anna  said  that  she 
must  go  home ;  but  the  Suttons,  now  frankly  absorbed  in  the 
topic  of  the  mayoralty,  their  secret  preoccupation,  would 
not  spoil  the  confidential  talk  which  had  ensued  by  letting 
the  lovers  depart.  It  was  nearly  half-past  nine  before  Anna 
and  Henry  stood  on  the  pavement  outside,  and  Beatrice, 
after  facetious  farewells,  had  shut  the  door. 

"  Let  us  just  walk  round  by  the  Manor  Farm,"  Henry 
pleaded.  "  It  won't  take  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
or  so." 

She  agreed  dutifully.  The  footpath  ran  at  right  angles 
to  Trafalgar  Road,  past  a  colliery  whose  engine-fires 
glowed  in  the  dark,  moonless,  autumn  night,  and  then  across 
a  field.  They  stood  on  a  knoll  near  the  old  farmstead,  that 
extraordinary  and  pathetic  survival  of  a  vanished  agricul- 
ture. Immediately  in  front  of  them  stretched  acres  of  burn- 
ing ironstone — a  vast  tremulous  carpet  of  flame  woven  in 
red,  purple,  and  strange  greens.  Beyond  were  the  skeleton- 
like  silhouettes  of  pit-heads,  and  the  solid  forms  of  furnace 
and  chimney-shaft.  In  the  distance  a  canal  reflected  the 
gigantic  illuminations  of  Cauldon  Bar  Ironworks.  It  was  a 
scene  mysterious  and  romantic  enough  to  kindle  the  raptures 


264  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

of  love,  but  Anna  felt  cold,  melancholy,  and  apprehensive 
of  vague  sorrows.  "  Why  am  I  so?  "  she  asked  herself,  and 
tried  in  vain  to  shake  off  the  mood. 

"  What  will  Willie  Price  do  if  the  business  is  sold  ?  "  she 
questioned  Mynors  suddenly. 

"  Surely,"  he  said  to  soothe  her,  "  you  aren't  still  worry- 
ing about  that  misfortune.  I  wish  you  had  never  gone 
near  the  inquest ;  the  thing  seems  to  have  got  on  your 
mind." 

"  Oh,  no ! "  she  protested,  with  an  air  of  cheerfulness. 
"  But  I  was  just  wondering." 

"  Well,  Willie  will  have  to  do  the  best  he  can.  Get 
a  place  somewhere,  I  suppose.  It  won't  be  much,  at  the 
best." 

Had  he  guessed  what  perhaps  hung  on  that  answer,  My- 
nors might  have  given  it  in  a  tone  less  callous  and  perfunc- 
tory. Could  he  have  seen  the  tightening  of  her  lips,  he 
might  even  afterwards  have  repaired  his  error  by  some  vol- 
untary assurance  that  Willie  Price  should  be  watched  over 
with  a  benevolent  eye  and  protected  with  a  strong  arm. 
But  how  was  he  to  know  that  in  misprizing  Willie  Price  be- 
fore her,  he  was  misprizing  the  child  to  its  mother?  He 
had  done  something  for  Willie  Price,  and  considered  that  he 
had  done  enough.  His  thoughts,  moreover,  were  on  other 
matters. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  day  we  went  up  to  the  park  ?  " 
he  murmured  fondly ;  "  that  Sunday  ?  I  have  never  told 
you  that  that  evening  I  came  out  of  chapel  after  the  first 
hymn,  when  I  noticed  you  weren't  there,  and  walked  up 


AT   THE  PRIORY  265 

past  your  house.  I  couldn't  help  it.  Something  drew  me. 
I  nearly  called  in  to  see  you.  Then  I  thought  I  had  better 
not." 

"  I  saw  you,"  she  said  calmly.  His  warmth  made  her 
feel  sad.  "  I  saw  you  stop  at  the  gate." 

"  You  did?    But  you  weren't  at  the  window?  " 

"  I  saw  you  through  the  glass  of  the  front  door."  Her 
voice  grew  fainter,  more  reluctant. 

"  Then  you  were  watching?  "  In  the  dark  he  seized  her 
with  such  violence,  and  kissed  her  so  vehemently,  that  she 
was  startled  out  of  herself. 

"  Oh,  Henry !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Call  me  Harry,"  he  entreated,  his  arm  still  round  her 
waist ;  "  I  want  you  to  call  me  Harry.  No  one  else  does  or 
ever  has  done,  and  no  one  shall,  now." 

"  Harry,"  she  said  deliberately,  bracing  her  mind  to  a 
positive  determination.  She  must  please  him,  and  she  said 
it  again :  "  Harry ;  yes,  it  has  a  nice  sound." 

Ephraim  sat  reading  the  "  Signal  "  in  the  parlour  when 
she  arrived  home  at  five  minutes  to  ten.  Imbued  then  with 
ideas  of  duty,  submission,  and  systematic  kindliness, 
she  had  an  impulse  to  attempt  a  reconciliation  with  her 
father. 

"  Good-night,  father,"  she  said ;  "  I  hope  I've  not  kept 
you  up." 

He  was  deaf. 

She  went  to  bed  resigned ;  sad,  but  not  gloomy.  It  was 
not  for  nothing  that  during  all  her  life  she  had  been  ac- 
customed to  infelicity.  Experience  had  taught  her  this: 


266  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

to  be  the  mistress  of  herself.  She  knew  that  she  could  face 
any  fact — even  the  fact  of  her  dispassionate  frigidity  under 
Mynors'  caresses.  It  was  on  the  firm,  almost  rapturous 
resolve  to  succour  Willie  Price,  if  need  were,  that  she  fell 
asleep. 

The  engagement,  which  had  hitherto  been  kept  private, 
became  the  theme  of  universal  gossip  immediately  upon  the 
return  of  the  Suttons  from  the  Isle  of  Man.  Two  words 
let  fall  by  Beatrice  in  the  St.  Luke's  covered  market  on 
Saturday  morning  had  increased  and  multiplied  till  the 
whole  town  echoed  with  the  news.  Anna's  private  fortune 
rose  as  high  as  a  quarter  of  a  million.  As  for  Henry  My- 
nors, it  was  said  that  Henry  Mynors  knew  what  he  was 
about.  After  all,  he  was  like  the  rest.  Money,  money  !  Of 
course  it  was  inconceivable  that  a  fine,  prosperous  figure  of 
a  man,  such  as  Mynors,  would  have  made  up  to  her,  if  she 
had  not  been  simply  rolling  in  money.  Well,  there  was  one 
thing  to  be  said  for  young  Mynors,  he  would  put  money  to 
good  use;  you  might  rely  he  would  not  hoard  it  up  same 
as  it  had  been  hoarded  up.  However,  the  more  saved,  the 
more  for  young  Mynors,  so  he  needn't  grumble.  It  was  to 
be  hoped  he  would  make  her  dress  herself  a  bit  better — 
though  indeed  it  hadn't  been  her  fault  she  went  about  so 
shabby;  the  old  skinflint  would  never  allow  her  a  penny  of 
her  own.  So  tongues  wagged. 

The  first  Sunday  was  a  tiresome  ordeal  for  Anna,  both 
at  school  and  at  chapel.  "  Well,  I  never ! "  seemed  to  be 
written  like  a  note  of  exclamation  on  every  brow;  the  mo- 
notony of  the  congratulations  fatigued  her  as  much  as  her 


AT  THE  PRIORY  267 

involuntary  efforts  to  grasp  what  each  speaker  had  left  un- 
said of  innuendo,  malice,  envy,  or  sycophany.  Even  the 
people  in  the  shops,  during  the  next  few  days,  could  not 
serve  her  without  direct  and  curious  reference  to  her  private 
affairs.  The  general  opinion  that  she  was  a  cold  and  blood- 
less creature  was  strengthened  by  her  attitude  at  this  period. 
But  the  apathy  which  she  displayed  was  neither  affected 
nor  due  to  an  excessive  diffidence.  As  she  seemed,  so  she 
felt.  She  often  wondered  what  would  have  happened  to  her 
if  that  vague  "  something  "  between  Henry  and  Beatrice, 
to  which  Beatrice  had  confessed,  had  ever  taken  definite 
shape. 

"  Hancock  came  back  from  Lancashire  last  night,"  said 
Mynors,  when  he  arrived  at  Manor  Terrace  on  the  next 
Saturday  afternoon.  Ephraim  was  in  the  room,  and  Henry, 
evidently  joyous  and  triumphant,  addressed  both  him  and 
Anna. 

"  Is  Hancock  the  commercial  traveller?  "  Anna  asked. 
She  knew  that  Hancock  was  the  commercial  traveller,  but 
she  experienced  a  nervous  compulsion  to  make  idle  remarks 
in  order  to  hide  the  breach  of  intercourse  between  her  father 
and  herself. 

"Yes,"  said  Mynors;  "he's  had  a  magnificent  jour- 
ney." 

"  How  much  ?  "  asked  the  miser. 

Henry  named  the  amount  of  orders  taken  in  a  fortnight's 
journey. 

"  Humph!  "  the  miser  ejaculated.  "  That's  better  than 
a  bat  in  the  eye  with  a  burnt  stick."  From  him,  this  was 


268  ANNA   OF  THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

the  superlative  of  praise.  "  You're  making  good  money  at 
that  rate?" 

"  We  are,"  said  Mynors. 

"  That  reminds  me,"  Ephraim  remarked  gruffly.  "  When 
dost  think  o'  getting  wed  ?  I'm  not  much  for  long  engage- 
ments, and  so  I  tell  ye."  He  threw  a  cold  glance  sideways 
at  Anna.  The  idea  penetrated  her  heart  like  a  stab :  "  He 
wants  to  get  me  out  of  the  house !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Mynors,  surprised  at  the  question  and 
the  tone,  and,  looking  at  Anna  as  if  for  an  explanation : 
"  I  had  scarcely  thought  of  that.  What  does  Anna 
say?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  murmured ;  and  then,  more  bravely, 
in  a  louder  voice,  and  with  a  smile :  "  The  sooner  the  better." 
She  thought,  in  her  bitter  and  painful  resentment :  "  If  he 
wants  me  to  go,  go  I  will." 

Henry  tactfully  passed  on  to  another  phase  of  the  sub- 
ject: "  I  met  Mr.  Sutton  yesterday,  and  he  was  telling  me 
of  Price's  house  up  at  Toft  End.  It  belonged  to  Mr.  Price, 
but  of  course  it  was  mortgaged  up  to  the  hilt.  The  mort- 
gagees have  taken  possession,  and  Mr.  Sutton  said  it  would 
be  to  let  cheap  at  Christmas.  Of  course  Willie  and  old 
Sarah  Vodrey,  the  housekeeper,  will  clear  out.  I  was  think- 
ing it  might  do  for  us.  It's  not  a  bad  sort  of  house,  or, 
rather,  it  won't  be  when  it's  repaired." 

"  What  will  they  ask  for  it  ?  "  Ephraim  inquired. 

"  Twenty-five  or  twenty-eight.  It's  a  nice  large  house 
— four  bedrooms,  and  a  very  good  garden." 

"  Four  bedrooms !  the  miser  exclaimed.     "  What  dost 


AT   THE  PRIORY  269 

want  wi'  four  bedrooms?  You'd  have  for  keep  a  ser- 
vant." 

"  Naturally  we  should  keep  a  servant,"  Mynors  said,  with 
calm  politeness. 

"  You  could  get  one  o'  them  new  houses  up  by  th'  park 
for  fifteen  pounds  as  would  do  you  well  enough  " ;  the  miser 
protested  against  these  dreams  of  extravagance. 

"  I  don't  care  for  that  part  of  the  town,"  said  Mynors. 
"  It's  too  new  for  my  taste." 

After  tea,  when  Henry  and  Anna  went  out  for  the  Satur- 
day evening  stroll,  Mynors  suddenly  suggested :  "  Why  not 
go  up  and  look  through  that  house  of  Price's  ?  " 

"  Won't  it  seem  like  turning  them  out  if  we  happen  to 
take  it?  "  she  asked. 

"  Turning  them  out !  Willie  is  bound  to  leave  it.  What 
use  is  it  to  him?  Besides,  it's  in  the  hands  of  the  mort- 
gagees now.  Why  shouldn't  we  take  it  just  as  well  as  any- 
one else,  if  it  suits  us  ?  " 

Anna  had  no  reply,  and  she  surrendered  herself  placidly 
enough  to  his  will ;  nevertheless  she  could  not  entirely  ban- 
ish a  misgiving  that  Willie  Price  was  again  to  be  victim- 
ised. Infinitely  more  disturbing  than  this  illogical  sensa- 
tion, however,  was  the  instinctive  and  sure  knowledge,  re- 
vealed in  a  flash,  that  her  father  wished  to  be  rid  of  her.  So 
implacable,  then,  was  his  animosity  against  her!  Never, 
never  had  she  been  so  deeply  hurt.  The  wound,  in  fact,  was 
so  severe  that  at  first  she  felt  only  a  numbness  that  reduced 
everything  to  unimportance,  robbing  her  of  volition.  She 
walked  up  to  Toft  End  as  if  walking  in  her  sleep. 


270  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

Price's  house,  sometimes  called  Priory  House,  in  accord- 
ance with  a  legend  that  a  priory  had  once  occupied  the 
site,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  mean  and  struggling  suburb 
of  Toft  End,  which  was  flung  up  the  hillside  like  a  ragged 
scarf.  Built  of  red  brick,  towards  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  double-fronted,  with  small,  evenly  disposed  win- 
dows, and  a  chimney  stack  at  either  side,  it  looked  westward 
over  the  town  smoke  towards  a  horizon  of  hills.  It  had  a 
long,  narrow  garden,  which  ran  parallel  with  the  road.  Be- 
hind it,  adjoining,  was  a  small,  disused  potworks,  already 
advanced  in  decay.  On  the  north  side,  and  enclosed  by  a  brick 
wall  which  surrounded  also  the  garden,  was  a  small  orchard 
of  sterile  and  withered  fruit-trees.  In  parts  the  wall  had 
crumbled  under  the  assaults  of  generations  of  boys,  and 
from  the  orchard,  through  the  gaps,  could  be  seen  an  ex- 
panse of  grey-green  field,  with  a  few  abandoned  pit-shafts 
scattered  over  it.  These  shafts,  imperfectly  protected  by 
ruinous  masonry,  presented  an  appearance  strangely  sin- 
ister and  forlorn,  raising  visions  in  the  mind  of  dark  and 
mysterious  depths  peopled  with  miserable  ghosts  of  those 
who  had  toiled  there  in  the  days  when  to  be  a  miner  was  to 
be  a  slave.  The  whole  place,  house  and  garden,  looked 
ashamed  and  sad,  with  a  shabby  mournfulness  acquired 
gradually  from  its  inmates  during  many  years.  But,  never- 
theless, the  house  was  substantial,  and  the  air  on  that  height 
fresh  and  pure. 

Mynors  rang  in  vain  at  the  front  door,  and  then  they 
walked  round  the  house  to  the  orchard,  and  discovered  Sarah 
Vodrey  taking  in  clothes  from  a  line — a  diminutive  and 


AT   THE  PRIORY  271 

wasted  figure,  with  scanty,  grey  hair,  a  tiny  face  per- 
manently soured,  and  bony  hands  contorted  by  rheu- 
matism. 

"  My  rheumatism's  that  bad,"  she  said  in  response  to 
greetings,  "  I  can  scarce  move  about,  and  this  house  is  a 
regular  barracks  to  keep  clean.  No ;  Willie's  not  in.  He's 
at  th'  works,  as  usual — Saturday  like  any  other  day.  I'm 
by  myself  here  all  day  and  every  day.  But  I  reckon  us'n 
be  flitting  soon,  and  me  lived  here  eight-and-twenty  year ! 
Praise  God,  there's  a  mansion  up  there  for  me  at  last.  And 
not  sorry  shall  I  be  when  He  calls." 

"  It  must  be  very  lonely  for  you,  Miss  Vodrey,"  said  My- 
nors.  He  knew  exactly  how  to  speak  to  this  dame  who 
lived  her  life  like  a  fly  between  two  panes  of  glass,  and  who 
could  find  room  in  her  head  for  only  three  ideas,  namely: 
that  God  and  herself  were  on  terms  of  intimacy;  that  she 
was,  and  had  always  been,  indispensable  to  the  Price  family ; 
and  that  her  social  status  was  far  above  that  of  a  servant. 
"  It's  a  pity  you  never  married,"  Mynors  added. 

"  Me  marry !  What  would  they  ha'  done  without  me  ? 
No,  I'm  none  for  marriage  and  never  was.  I'd  be  shamed 
to  be  like  some  o'  them  spinsters  down  at  chapel,  always 
hanging  round  chapel-yard  on  the  off-chance  of  a  service, 
to  catch  that  there  young  Mr.  Sargent,  the  new  minister. 
It's  a  sign  of  a  hard  winter,  Miss  Terrick,  when  the  hay 
runs  after  the  horse,  that's  what  I  say." 

"  Miss  Tellwright  and  myself  are  in  search  of  a  house," 
Mynors  gently  interrupted  the  flow,  and  gave  her  a  peculiar 
glance  which  she  appreciated.  "  We  heard  you  and  Willie 


272  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

were  going  to  leave  here,  and  so  we  came  up  just  to  look  over 
the  place,  if  it's  quite  convenient  to  you." 

"  Eh,  I  understand  ye,"  she  said ;  "  come  in.  But  ye  mun 
tak'  things  as  ye  find  'em,  Miss  Terrick." 

Dismal  and  unkempt,  the  interior  of  the  house  matched 
the  exterior.  The  carpets  were  threadbare,  the  discoloured 
wall-papers  hung  loose  on  the  walls,  the  ceilings  were  almost 
black,  the  paint  had  nearly  been  rubbed  away  from  the 
woodwork;  the  exhausted  furniture  looked  as  though  it 
would  fall  to  pieces  in  despair  if  compelled  to  face  the 
threatened  ordeal  of  an  auction-sale.  But  to  Anna  the 
rooms  were  surprisingly  large,  and  there  seemed  so  many  of 
them !  It  was  as  if  she  were  exploring  an  immense  abode, 
like  a  castle,  with  odd  chambers  continually  showing  them- 
selves in  unexpected  places.  The  upper  story  was  even  less 
inviting  than  the  ground-floor — barer,  more  chill,  utterly 
comfortless. 

"  This  is  the  best  bedroom,"  said  Miss  Vodrey.  "  And  a 
rare  big  room,  too !  It's  not  used  now.  He  slept  here. 
Willie  sleeps  at  back." 

"  A  very  nice  room,"  Mynors  agreed  blandly,  and  meas- 
ured it,  as  he  had  done  all  the  others,  with  a  two-foot,  enter- 
ing the  figures  in  his  pocketbook. 

Anna's  eye  wandered  uneasily  across  the  room,  with  its 
dismantled  bed  and  decrepit  mahogany  suite. 

"  I'm  glad  he  hanged  himself  at  the  works,  and  not  here," 
she  thought.  Then  she  looked  out  at  the  window.  "  What 
a  splendid  view !  "  she  remarked  to  Mynors. 

She  saw  that  he  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the  house.     The 


AT   THE  PRIORY  273 

sagacious  fellow  esteemed  it,  not  as  it  was,  but  as  it  would 
be,  repapered,  repainted,  refurnished,  the  outer  walls 
pointed,  the  garden  stocked;  everything  cleansed,  bright- 
ened, renewed.  And  there  was  indeed  much  to  be  said  for 
his  fancy.  The  house  was  large,  with  plenty  of  ground; 
the  boundary  wall  secured  that  privacy  which  young  hus- 
bands and  young  wives  instinctively  demand;  the  outlook 
was  unlimited,  the  air  the  purest  in  the  Five  Towns.  And 
the  rent  was  low,  because  the  great  majority  of  those  who 
could  afford  such  a  house  would  never  deign  to  exist  in  a 
quarter  so  poverty-stricken  and  unfashionable. 

After  leaving  the  house  they  continued  their  walk  up  the 
hill,  and  then  turned  off  to  the  left  on  the  high-road  from 
Hanbridge  to  Moorthorne.  The  venerable,  but  not  dignified 
town  lay  below  them,  a  huddled  medley  of  brown  brick  under 
a  thick  black  cloud  of  smoke.  The  gold  angel  of  the  town- 
hall  gleamed  in  the  evening  light,  and  the  dark,  squat  tower 
of  the  parish  church,  sole  relic  of  the  past,  stood  out  grim 
and  obdurate  amid  the  featureless  buildings  which  sur- 
rounded it.  To  the  north  and  east  miles  of  moorland,  de- 
faced by  collieries  and  murky  hamlets,  ran  to  the  horizon. 
Across  the  great  field  at  their  feet  a  figure  slouched  along, 
past  the  abandoned  pit-shafts.  They  both  recognised  the 
man. 

"  There's  Willie  Price  going  home !  "  said  Mynors. 

"  He  looks  tired,"  she  said.  She  was  relieved  that  they 
had  not  met  him  at  the  house. 

"  I  say,"  Mynors  began  earnestly,  after  a  pause,  "  why 
shouldn't  we  get  married  soon,  since  the  old  gentleman  seems 


274  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

rather  to  expect  it  ?  He's  been  rather  awkward  lately,  hasn't 
he?  " 

This  was  the  only  reference  made  by  Mynors  to  her 
father's     temper.        She     nodded.        "  How     soon? "     sb 
asked. 

"  Well,  I  was  just  thinking.  Suppose,  for  the  sake  of 
argument,  this  house  turns  out  all  right.  I  couldn't  get  it 
thoroughly  done  up  much  before  the  middle  of  January — 
couldn't  begin  till  these  people  had  moved.  Suppose  we  said 
early  in  February  ?  " 

"  Yes ! " 

"  Could  you  be  ready  by  that  time?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  she  answered,  "  I  could  be  ready." 

"  Well,  why  shouldn't  we  fix  February,  then  ?  " 

"  There's  the  question  of  Agnes,"  she  said. 

"  Yes ;  and  there  will  always  be  the  question  of  Agnes. 
Your  father  will  have  to  get  a  housekeeper.  You  and  I 
will  be  able  to  see  after  little  Agnes,  never  fear."  So, 
with  tenderness  in  his  voice,  he  reassured  her  on  that 
point. 

"Why  not  February?"  she  reflected.  "Why  not  to- 
morrow, as  father  wants  me  out  of  the  house?  " 

It  was  agreed. 

"  I've  taken  the  Priory,  subject  to  your  approval," 
Henry  said,  less  than  a  fortnight  later.  From  that  time 
he  invariably  referred  to  the  place  as  the  Priory. 

It  was  on  the  very  night  after  this  eager  announcement 
that  the  approaching  tragedy  came  one  step  nearer.  Bea- 


AT   THE  PRIORY  275 

trice,  in  a  modest  evening-dress,  with  a  white  cloak — ex- 
cited, hurried,  and  important — ran  in  to  speak  to -Anna. 
The  carriage  was  waiting  outside.  She  and  her  father  and 
mother  had  to  attend  a  very  important  dinner  at  the  mayor's 
house  at  Hillport,  in  connection  with  Mr.  Button's  impend- 
ing mayoralty.  Old  Sarah  Vodrey  had  just  sent  down  a 
girl  to  say  that  she  was  unwell,  and  would  be  grateful  if 
Mrs.  Sutton  or  Beatrice  would  visit  her.  It  was  a  most  un- 
reasonable time  for  such  a  summons,  but  Sarah  was  a 
fidgety  old  crotchet,  and  knew  how  frightfully  good-na- 
tured Mrs.  Sutton  was.  Would  Anna  mind  going  up 
to  Toft  End?  And  would  Anna  come  out  to  the  car- 
riage and  personally  assure  Mrs.  Sutton  that  old  Sarah 
should  be  attended  to?  If  not,  Beatrice  was  afraid 
her  mother  would  take  it  into  her  head  to  do  something 
stupid. 

"  It's  very  good  of  you,  Anna,"  said  Mrs.  Sutton,  when 
Anna  went  outside  with  Beatrice.  "  But  I  think  I'd  better 
go  myself.  The  poor  old  thing  may  feel  slighted  if  I  don't, 
and  Beatrice  can  well  take  my  place  at  this  affair  at  Hill- 
port,  which  I've  no  mind  for."  She  was  already  half  out  of 
the  carriage. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Anna  firmly,  pushing 
her  back.  "  I  shall  be  delighted  to  go  and  do  what  I 
can." 

"  That's  right,  Anna,"  said  the  Alderman  from  the  dark- 
ness of  the  carriage,  where  his  shirt-front  gleamed ;  "  Bee 
said  you'd  go,  and  we're  much  obliged  to  ye." 

"  I  expect  it  will  be  nothing,"  said  Beatrice,  as  the  vehicle 


276  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

drove  off ;  "  Sarah  has  served  mother  this  trick  before 
now." 

As  Anna  opened  the  garden-gate  of  the  Priory  she  dis- 
cerned a  figure  amid  the  rank  bushes,  which  had  been  al- 
lowed to  grow  till  they  almost  met  across  the  narrow  path 
leading  to  the  front  door  of  the  house.  It  was  a  thick  and 
mysterious  night — such  a  night  as  death  chooses ;  and  Anna 
jumped  in  vague  terror  at  the  apparition. 

"  Who's  there?  "  said  a  voice  sharply. 

"  It's  me,"  said  Anna.  "  Miss  Vodrey  sent  down  to  ask 
Mrs.  Sutton  to  come  up  and  see  her,  but  Mrs.  Sutton  had 
an  engagement,  so  I  came  instead." 

The  figure  moved  forward;  it  was  Willie  Price.  He 
peered  into  her  face,  and  she  could  see  the  mortal  pallor  of 
his  cheeks. 

"  Oh !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  it's  Miss  Tellwright,  is  it?  Will 
ye  come  in,  Miss  Tellwright?  " 

She  followed  him  with  beating  heart,  alarmed,  appre- 
hensive. The  front  door  stood  wide  open,  and  at  the  far  end 
of  the  gloomy  passage  a  faint  light  shone  from  the  open 
door  of  the  kitchen.  "  This  way,"  he  said.  In  the  large, 
bare,  stone-floored  kitchen  Sarah  Vodrey  sat  limp  and  with 
closed  eyes  in  an  old  rocking-chair  close  to  the  fireless  range. 
The  window,  which  gave  on  to  the  street,  was  open ;  through 
that  window  Sarah,  in  her  extremity,  had  called  the 
child  who  ran  down  to  Mrs.  Sutton's.  On  the  deal 
table  were  a  dirty  cup  and  saucer,  a  tea-pot,  bread, 
butter,  and  a  lighted  candle — sole  illumination  of  the 
Chamber. 


AT   THE  PRIORY  277 

"  I  come  home,  and  I  find  this,"  he  said. 

Daunted  for  a  moment  by  the  scene  of  misery,  Anna  could 
say  nothing. 

"  I  find  this,"  he  repeated,  as  if  accusing  God  of  spite- 
fulness  ;  and  he  lifted  the  candle  to  show  the  apparently  in- 
sensible form  of  the  woman.  Sarah's  wrinkled  and  seamed 
face  had  the  flush  of  fever,  and  the  features  were  drawn 
into  the  expression  of  a  terrible  anxiety ;  her  hands  hung 
loose ;  she  breathed  like  a  dog  after  a  run. 

"  I  wanted  her  to  have  the  doctor  yesterday,"  he  said, 
"  but  she  wouldn't.  Ever  since  you  and  Mr.  Mynors  called 
she's  been  cleaning  the  house  down.  She  said  you'd  happen 
be  coming  again  soon,  and  the  place  wasn't  fit  to  be  seen. 
No  use  me  arguing  with  her." 

"  You  had  better  run  for  a  doctor,"  Anna  said. 

"  I  was  just  going  off  when  you  came.  She's  been  com- 
plaining more  of  her  rheumatism,  and  pain  in  her  hips, 
lately." 

"  Go  now ;  fetch  Mr.  Macpherson,  and  call  at  our  house 
and  say  I  shall  stay  here  all  night.  Wait  a  moment."  See- 
ing that  he  was  exhausted  from  lack  of  food,  she  cut  a  thick 
piece  of  bread-and-butter.  "  Eat  this  as  you  go,"  she 
said. 

"  I  can't  eat ;  it  '11  choke  me." 

"  Let  it  choke  you,"  she  said.  "  You've  got  to  swallow 
it." 

Child  of  a  hundred  sorrows,  he  must  be  treated  as  a  child. 
As  soon  as  Willie  was  gone  she  took  off  her  hat  and  jacket, 
and  lit  a  lamp ;  there  was  no  gas  in  the  kitchen. 


278  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  What's  that  light  ?  "  the  old  woman  asked  peevishly, 
rousing  herself,  and  sitting  up.  "  I  doubt  I'll  be  late  with 
Willie's  tea.  Eh,  Miss  Terrick,  what's  amiss  ?  " 

"  You're  not  quite  well,  Miss  Vodrey,"  Anna  answered. 
"  If  you'll  show  me  your  room,  I'll  see  you  into  bed." 
Without  giving  her  a  moment  for  hesitation,  Anna  seized 
the  feeble  creature  under  the  arms,  and  so,  coaxing,  sup- 
porting, carrying,  got  her  to  bed.  At  length  she  lay  on  the 
narrow  mattress,  panting,  exhausted.  It  was  Sarah's  final 
effort. 

Anna  lit  fires  in  the  kitchen  and  in  the  bedroom,  and  when 
Willie  returned  with  Dr.  Macpherson,  water  was  boiling 
and  tea  made. 

"  You'd  better  get  a  woman  in,"  said  the  doctor  curtly, 
in  the  kitchen,  when  he  had  finished  his  examination  of 
Sarah.  "  Some  neighbour  for  to-night,  and  I'll  send  a  nurse 
up  from  the  cottage-hospital  early  to-morrow  morning. 
Not  that  it  will  be  the  least  use.  She  must  have  been  dying 
for  the  last  two  days  at  least.  She's  got  pericarditis  and 
pleurisy.  She's  breathing  I  don't  know  how  many  to  the 
minute,  and  her  temperature  is  just  about  as  high  as  it  can 
be.  It  all  follows  from  rheumatism,  and  then  taking  cold. 
Gross  carelessness  and  neglect  all  through!  I've  no  pa- 
tience with  such  work."  He  turned  angrily  to  Willie.  "  I 
don't  know  what  on  earth  you  were  thinking  of,  Mr.  Price, 
not  to  send  for  me  earlier." 

Willie,  abashed  and  guilty,  found  nothing  to  say.  His 
eye  had  the  meek  wistf ulness  of  Holman  Hunt's  "  Scape- 
goat." 


AT   THE  PRIORY  279 

"  Mr.  Price  wanted  her  to  have  the  doctor,"  said  Anna, 
defending  him  with  warmth ;  "  but  she  wouldn't.  He  is 
out  at  the  works  all  day  till  late  at  night.  How  was  he  to 
know  how  she  was?  She  could  walk  about." 

The  tall  doctor  glanced  at  Anna  in  surprise,  and  at  once 
modified  his  tone.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  that's  the  curious 
thing.  It  passes  me  how  she  managed  to  get  about.  But 
there  is  no  knowing  what  an  obstinate  woman  won't  force 
herself  to  do.  I'll  send  the  medicine  up  to-night,  and  come 
along  myself  with  the  nurse  early  to-morrow.  Meantime, 
keep  carefully  to  my  instructions." 

That  night  remains  forever  fixed  in  Anna's  memory :  the 
grim  rooms,  echoing  and  shadowy;  the  countless  journeys 
up  and  down  dark  stairs  and  passages ;  Willie  sitting  always 
immovable  in  the  kitchen,  idle  because  there  was  nothing 
for  him  to  do;  Sarah  incessantly  panting  on  the  truckle- 
bed;  the  hired  woman  from  up  the  street,  buxom,  kindly, 
useful,  but  fatuous  in  the  endless  monotony  of  her  commis- 
erations. 

Towards  morning,  Sarah  Vodrey  gave  sign  of  a  desire  to 
talk. 

"  I've  fought  the  fight,"  she  murmured  to  Anna,  who 
alone  was  in  the  bedroom  with  her,  "  I've  fought  the  fight ; 
I've  kept  the  faith.  In  that  box  there  ye'll  see  a  purse. 
There's  seventeen  pound  six  in  it.  That  will  pay  for  the 
funeral,  and  Willie  must  have  what's  over.  There  would 
ha'  been  more  for  the  lad,  but  he  never  paid  me  no  wages 
this  two  years  past.  I  never  troubled  him." 

"  Don't  tell  Willie  that,"  Anna  said  impetuously. 


280  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  Eh,  bless  ye,  no ! "  said  the  dying  drudge,  and  then 
seemed  to  doze. 

Anna  went  to  the  kitchen,  and  sent  the  woman  upstairs. 

"  How  is  she  ?  "  asked  Willie,  without  stirring.  Anna 
shook  her  head.  "  Neither  her  nor  me  will  be  here  much 
longer,  I'm  thinking,"  he  said,  smiling  wearily. 

"  What  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  startled. 

"  Mr.  Button  has  arranged  to  sell  our  business  as  a  go- 
ing-concern— some  people  at  Turnhill  are  buying  it.  I 
shall  go  to  Australia;  there's  no  room  for  me  here.  The 
creditors  have  promised  to  allow  me  twenty-five  pounds,  and 
I  can  get  an  assisted  passage.  Bursley  '11  know  me  no  more. 
But — but — I  shall  always  remember  you  and  what  you've 
done." 

She  longed  to  kneel  at  his  feet,  and  to  comfort  him,  and 
to  cry :  "  It  is  I  who  have  ruined  you — driven  your  father 
to  cheating  his  servant,  to  crime,  to  suicide;  driven  you  to 
forgery,  and  turned  you  out  of  your  house  which  your  old 
servant  killed  herself  in  making  clean  for  me.  I  have 
wronged  you,  and  I  love  you  like  a  mother  because  I  have 
wronged  you  and  because  I  saved  you  from  prison." 

But  she  said  nothing  except :  "  Some  of  us  will  miss  you." 

The  next  day  Sarah  Vodrey  died — she  who  had  never 
lived  save  in  the  fetters  of  slavery  and  fanaticism.  After 
fifty  years  of  ceaseless  labour,  she  had  gained  the  affection 
of  one  person,  and  enough  money  to  pay  for  her  own  fu- 
neral. Willie  Price  took  a  cheap  lodging  with  the  woman 
who  had  been  called  in  on  the  night  of  Sarah's  collapse. 
Before  Christmas  he  was  to  sail  for  Melbourne.  The 


AT  THE  PRIORY  281 

Priory,  deserted,  gave  up  its  rickety  furniture  to  a  van 
from  Hanbridge,  where,  in  an  auction-room,  the  frail  sticks 
lost  their  identity  in  a  medley  of  other  sticks,  and  ceased 
to  be.  Then  the  bricklayer,  the  plasterer,  the  painter,  and 
the  paper-hanger,  came  to  the  Priory,  and  whistled  and 
sang  in  it. 


j   > 


XIII:  THE  BAZAAR 

THE  Wesleyan  Bazaar,  the  greatest  undertaking  of 
its  kind  ever  known  in  Bursley,  gradually  became  a 
cloud  which  filled  the  entire  social  horizon.  Mrs. 
Sutton,  organiser  of  the  Sunday-school  stall,  pressed  all  her 
friends  into  the  service,  and  for  a  fortnight  after  the  death 
of  Sarah  Vodrey,  Anna  and  even  Agnes  gave  much  of  their 
spare  time  to  the  work,  which  was  carried  on  under  pressure 
increasing  daily  as  the  final  moments  approached.  This 
was  well  for  Anna,  in  that  it  diverted  her  thoughts  by  keep- 
ing her  energies  fully  engaged.  One  morning,  however,  it 
occurred  to  Mrs.  Sutton  to  reflect  that  Anna,  at  such  a 
period  of  life,  should  be  otherwise  employed.  Anna  had 
called  at  the  Suttons'  to  deliver  some  finished  garments. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you 
for  all  this  industry.  But  I've  been  thinking  that,  as  you 
are  to  be  married  in  February,  you  ought  to  be  preparing 
your  things." 

"  My  things  !  "  Anna  repeated  idly ;  and  then  she  remem- 
bered Mynors'  phrase,  on  the  hill,  "  Can  you  be  ready  by 
that  time?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Sutton ;  "  but  possibly  you've  been  get- 
ting forward  with  them  on  the  quiet." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Anna,  with  an  air  of  interest ;  "  I've 
meant  to  ask  you  before:  Is  it  the  bride's  place  to  provide 
all  the  house-linen,  and  that  sort  of  thing?  " 

282 


THE  BAZAAR  283 

"  It  was  in  my  day ;  but  those  things  alter  so.  The  bride 
took  all  the  house-linen  to  her  husband,  and  as  many  clothes 
for  herself  as  would  last  a  year;  that  was  the  rule.  We 
used  to  stitch  everything  at  home  in  those  days — every- 
thing ;  and  we  had  what  we  called  a  '  bottom  drawer '  to 
store  them  in.  As  soon  as  a  girl  had  passed  her  fifteenth 
birthday,  she  began  to  sew  for  the  *  bottom  drawer.' 
But  all  those  things  change  so,  I  dare  say  it's  different 
now." 

"  How  much  will  it  cost  to  buy  everything,  do  you 
think?  "  Anna  asked. 

Just  then  Beatrice  entered  the  room. 

"  Beatrice,  Anna  is  enquiring  how  much  it  will  cost  to 
buy  her  trousseau,  and  the  house-linen.  What  do  you 
say?" 

"  Oh ! "  Beatrice  replied,  without  any  hesitation,  "  a 
couple  of  hundred  at  least." 

Mrs.  Sutton,  reading  Anna's  face,  smiled  reassuringly. 
"  Nonsense,  Bee !  I  dare  say  you  could  do  it  on  a  hundred 
with  care,  Anna." 

"  Why  should  Anna  want  to  do  it  with  care?  "  Beatrice 
asked  curtly. 

Anna  went  straight  across  the  road  to  her  father,  and 
asked  him  for  a  hundred  pounds  of  her  own  money.  She 
had  not  spoken  to  him,  save  under  necessity,  since  the  even- 
ing spent  at  the  Suttons'. 

"  What's  afoot  now?  "  he  questioned  savagely. 

"  I  must  buy  things  for  the  wedding — clothes  and  things, 
father." 


284  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

"  Ay !  clothes !  clothes !  What  clothes  dost  want  ?  A  few 
pounds  would  cover  them." 

"  There'll  be  all  the  linen  for  the  house." 

"  Linen  for It's  none  thy  place  for  buy  that." 

"  Yes,  father,  it  is." 

"  I  say  it  isna',"  he  shouted. 

"  But  I've  asked  Mrs.  Sutton,  and  she  says  it  is." 

"  What  business  an'  ye  for  go  blabbing  thy  affairs  all 
over  Bursley?  I  say  it  isna'  thy  place  for  buy  the  linen, 
and  let  that  be  sufficient.  Go  and  get  dinner.  It's  nigh  on 
twelve  now." 

That  evening,  when  Agnes  had  gone  to  bed,  she  resumed 
the  struggle. 

"  Father,  I  must  have  that  hundred  pounds.  I  really 
must.  I  mean  it." 

"  Thou  means  it!    What?  " 

**  I  mean  I  must  have  a  hundred  pounds." 

"  I'd  advise  thee  to  tak'  care  o'  thy  tongue,  my  lass. 
Thou  means  it!  " 

"  But  you  needn't  give  it  me  all  at  once,"  she  pursued. 

He  gazed  at  her,  glowering. 

"  I  shanna'  give  it  thee.  It's  Henry's  place  for  buy  th' 
house-linen." 

"  Father,  it  isn't."  Her  voice  broke,  but  only  for  an  in- 
stant. "  I'm  asking  you  for  my  own  money.  You  seem 
to  want  to  make  me  miserable  just  before  my  wedding." 

"  I  wish  to  God  thou'dst  never  seen  Henry  Mynors.  It's 
given  thee  pride  and  made  thee  undutiful." 

"  I'm  only  asking  you  for  my  own  money." 


THE  BAZAAR  285 

Her  calm  insistence  maddened  him.  Jumping  up  from 
his  chair,  he  stamped  out  of  the  room,  and  she  heard  him 
strike  a  match  in  his  office.  Presently  he  returned,  and 
threw  angrily  on  to  the  table  in  front  of  her  a  cheque-book 
and  pass-book.  The  deposit-book  she  had  always  kept  her- 
self for  convenience  of  paying  into  the  bank. 

"  Here,"  he  said  scornfully,  "  tak'  thy  traps  and  ne'er 
speak  to  me  again.  I  wash  my  hands  of  ye.  Tak'  'em  and 
do  what  ye'n  a  mind.  Chuck  thy  money  into  th'  cut*  for 
aught  I  care." 

The  next  evening  Henry  came  up.  She  observed  that  his 
face  had  a  grave  look,  but  intent  on  her  own  difficulties  she 
did  not  remark  on  it,  and  proceeded  at  once  to  what  she  had 
resolved  to  do.  It  was  a  cold  night  in  November,  yet  the 
miser,  wrathfully  sullen,  chose  to  sit  in  his  office  without  a 
fire.  Agnes  was  working  sums  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Henry,"  Anna  began,  "  I've  had  a  difficulty  with 
father,  and  I  must  tell  you." 

"  Not  about  the  wedding,  I  hope,"  he  said. 

"  It  was  about  money.  Of  course,  Henry,  I  can't  get 
married  without  a  lot  of  money." 

"  Why  not?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I've  my  own  things  to  get,"  she  said,  "  and  I've  all  the 
house-linen  to  buy." 

"Oh!  You  buy  the  house-linen,  do  you?"  She  saw 
that  he  was  relieved  by  that  information. 

"  Of  course.  Well,  I  told  father  I  must  have  a  hundred 
pounds,  and  he  wouldn't  give  it  me.  And  when  I  stuck 
to  him  he  got  angry — you  know  he  can't  bear  to  see  money 
*  Cut:  canal. 


286  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

spent — and  at  last  he  got  a  little  savage  and  gave  me  my 
bank-books,  and  said  he'd  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  my 
money." 

Henry's  face  broke  into  a  laugh,  and  Anna  was  obliged 
to  smile.  "  Capital !  "  he  said.  "  Couldn't  be  better." 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me  how  much  I've  got  in  the  bank," 
she  said.  "  I  only  know  I'm  always  paying  in  odd 
cheques." 

He  examined  the  three  books.  "  A  very  tidy  bit,"  he 
said ;  "  something  over  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  So 
you  can  draw  cheques  at  your  ease." 

"  Draw  me  a  cheque  for  twenty  pounds,"  she  said ;  and 
then,  while  he  wrote :  "  Henry,  after  we're  married,  I  shall 
want  you  to  take  charge  of  all  this." 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  I  will  do  that,  dear.  But  your  money 
will  be  yours.  There  ought  to  be  a  settlement  on  you.  Still, 
if  your  father  says  nothing,  it  is  not  for  me  to  say  any- 
thing." 

"  Father  will  say  nothing — now,"  she  said.  "  You've 
never  shown  any  interest  in  it,  Henry ;  but  as  we're  talking 
of  money,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  father  says  I'm  worth 
fifty  thousand  pounds." 

The  man  of  business  was  astonished  and  enraptured  be- 
yond measure.  His  countenance  shone  with  delight. 

"  Surely  not !  "  he  protested  formally. 

"  That's  what  father  told  me,  and  he  made  me  read  a  list 
of  shares,  and  so  on." 

"  We  will  go  slow,  to  begin  with,"  said  Mynors  solemnly. 
He  had  not  expected  more  than  fifteen  or  twenty  thousand 


THE  BAZAAR  287 

pounds,  and  even  this  sum  had  dazzled  his  imagination.  He 
was  glad  that  he  had  only  taken  the  house  at  Toft  End  on 
a  yearly  tenancy.  He  now  saw  himself  the  dominant  figure 
in  all  the  Five  Towns. 

Later  in  the  evening  he  disclosed,  perfunctorily,  the  mat- 
ter which  had  been  a  serious  weight  on  his  mind  when  he 
entered  the  house,  but  which  this  revelation  of  vast  wealth 
had  diminished  to  a  trifle.  Titus  Price  had  been  the  treas- 
urer of  the  building  fund  which  the  bazaar  was  designed 
to  assist.  Mynors  had  assumed  the  position  of  the  dead 
man,  and  that  day,  in  going  through  the  accounts,  he  had 
discovered  that  a  sum  of  fifty  pounds  was  missing. 

"  It's  a  dreadful  thing  for  Willie,  if  it  gets  about,"  he 
said ;  "  a  tale  of  that  sort  would  follow  him  to  Australia." 

"  Oh,  Henry,  it  is ! "  she  exclaimed,  sorrow-stricken ; 
"  but  we  mustn't  let  it  get  about.  Let  us  pay  the  money 
ourselves.  You  must  enter  it  in  the  books  and  say  nothing." 

"  That  is  impossible,"  he  said  firmly.  "  I  can't  alter  the 
accounts.  At  least  I  can't  alter  the  bank-book  and  the 
vouchers.  The  auditor  would  detect  it  in  a  minute.  Be- 
sides, I  should  not  be  doing  my  duty  if  I  kept  a  thing  like 
this  from  the  superintendent-minister.  He,  at  any  rate, 
must  know,  and  perhaps  the  stewards." 

"  But  you  can  urge  them  to  say  nothing.  Tell  them 
that  you  will  make  it  good.  I  will  write  a  cheque  at 
once." 

"  I  had  meant  to  find  the  fifty  myself,"  he  said.  It  was 
a  peddling  sum  to  him  now. 

"  Let  me  pay  half,  then,"  she  asked. 


288  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  If  you  like,"  he  urged,  smiling  faintly  at  her  eagerness. 
"  The  thing  is  bound  to  be  kept  quiet — it  would  create  such 
a  frightful  scandal.  Poor  old  chap  !  "  he  added  carelessly, 
"  I  suppose  he  was  hard  run,  and  meant  to  put  it  back — as 
they  all  do  mean." 

But  it  was  useless  for  Mynors  to  affect  depression  of 
spirits,  or  mournful  sympathy  with  the  errors  of  a  dead 
sinner.  The  fifty  thousand  danced  a  jig  in  his  brain  that 
night. 

Anna  was  absorbed  in  contemplating  the  misfortune  of 
Willie  Price.  She  prayed  wildly  that  he  might  never  learn 
the  full  depth  of  his  father's  fall.  The  miserable  robbery 
of  Sarah's  wages  was  buried  for  evermore,  and  this  new 
delinquency,  which  all  would  regard  as  flagrant  sacrilege, 
must  be  buried  also.  A  soul  less  loyal  than  Anna's  might 
have  feared  that  Willie,  a  self-convicted  forger,  had  been  a 
party  to  the  embezzlement ;  but  Anna  knew  that  it  could  not 
be  so. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Mynors'  cautious  prudence  that, 
the  first  intoxication  having  passed,  he  made  no  further 
reference  of  any  kind  to  Anna's  fortune.  The  arrange- 
ments for  their  married  life  were  planned  on  a  scale  which 
ignored  the  fifty  thousand  pounds.  For  both  their  sakes  he 
wished  to  avoid  all  friction  with  the  miser,  at  any  rate  until 
his  status  as  Anna's  husband  would  enable  him  to  enforce 
her  rights,  if  that  should  be  necessary,  with  dignity  and 
effectiveness.  He  did  not  precisely  anticipate  trouble,  but 
the  fact  had  not  escaped  him  that  Ephraim  still  held  the 
whole  of  Anna's  securities.  He  was  in  no  hurry  to  enlarge 


THE  BAZAAR  289 

his  borders.  He  knew  that  there  were  twenty-four  hours  in 
every  day,  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  in  every  year, 
and  thirty  good  years  of  life  still  left  to  him ;  and,  therefore, 
that  there  would  be  ample  time,  after  the  wedding,  for  the 
execution  of  his  purposes  in  regard  to  that  fifty  thousand 
pounds.  Meanwhile,  he  told  Anna  that  he  had  set  aside  two 
hundred  pounds  for  the  purchase  of  furniture  for  the 
Priory — a  modest  sum;  but  he  judged  it  sufficient.  His 
method  was  to  buy  a  piece  at  a  time,  always  second-hand, 
but  always  good.  The  bargain-hunt  was  up,  and  Anna 
soon  yielded  to  its  mild  satisfactions.  In  the  matter  of  her 
trousseau  and  the  house-linen,  Anna,  having  obtained  the 
needed  money — at  so  dear  a  cost — found  yet  another  ob- 
stacle in  the  imminent  bazaar,  which  occupied  Mrs.  Sutton 
and  Beatrice  so  completely  that  they  could  not  contrive  any 
opportunity  to  assist  her  in  shopping.  It  was  decided  be- 
tween them  that  every  article  should  be  bought  ready-made 
and  seamed,  and  that  the  first  week  of  the  New  Year,  if  in- 
deed Mrs.  Sutton  survived  the  bazaar,  should  be  entirely  and 
absolutely  devoted  to  Anna's  business. 

At  nights,  when  she  had  leisure  to  think,  Anna  was  aston- 
ished, how,  during  the  day,  she  had  forgotten  her  preoccu- 
pations in  the  activities  precedent  to  the  bazaar,  or  in  choos- 
ing furniture  with  Mynors.  But  she  never  slept  without 
thinking  of  Willie  Price,  and  hoping  that  no  further  dis- 
aster might  overtake  him.  The  incident  of  the  embezzled 
fifty  pounds  had  been  closed,  and  she  had  given  a  cheque 
for  twenty-five  pounds  to  Mynors.  He  had  acquainted  the 
minister  with  the  facts,  and  Mr.  Banks  had  decided  that  the 


290  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

two  circuit  stewards  must  be  informed.  Beyond  these  the 
scandalous  secret  was  not  to  go.  But  Anna  wondered 
whether  a  secret  shared  by  five  persons  could  long  remain 
a  secret. 

The  bazaar  was  a  triumphant  and  unparalleled  success, 
and,  of  the  seven  stalls,  the  Sunday-school  stall  stood  first 
each  night  in  the  nightly  returns.  The  scene  in  the  town- 
hall,  on  the  fourth  and  final  night,  a  Saturday,  was  as 
delirious  and  gay  as  a  carnival.  Four  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds  had  been  raised  up  to  tea-time,  and  it  was  the  im- 
passioned desire  of  everyone  to  achieve  five  hundred.  The 
price  of  admission  had  been  reduced  to  threepence,  in  order 
that  the  artisan  might  enter  and  spend  his  wages  in  an  ex- 
cellent cause. 

The  seven  stalls,  ranged  round  the  room  like  so  many 
bowers  of  beauty,  draped  and  frilled  and  floriated,  and 
still  laden  with  countless  articles  of  use  and  ornament, 
were  continually  reinforced  with  purchasers  by  emissaries 
canvassing  the  crowd  which  filled  the  middle  of  the  paper- 
strewn  floor.  The  horse  was  not  only  taken  to  the  water, 
but  compelled  to  drink ;  and  many  a  man  who,  outside,  would 
have  laughed  at  the  risk  of  being  robbed,  was  robbed  openly, 
shamelessly,  under  the  gaze  of  ministers  and  class-leaders. 
Bouquets  were  sold  at  a  shilling  each,  and  at  the  refreshment 
stall  a  glass  of  milk  cost  sixpence.  The  noise  rivalled  that 
of  a  fair ;  there  was  no  quiet  anywhere,  save  in  the  farthest 
recess  of  each  stall,  where  the  lady  in  supreme  charge  of 
it,  like  a  spider  in  the  middle  of  its  web,  watched  customers 
and  cash-box  with  equal  cupidity. 


THE  BAZAAR  291 

Mrs.  Sutton,  at  seven  o'clock,  had  not  returned  from  tea, 
and  Anna  and  Beatrice,  who  managed  the  Sunday-school 
stall  in  her  absence,  feared  that  she  had  at  last  succumbed 
under  the  strain.  But  shortly  afterwards  she  hurried  back 
breathless  to  her  place. 

"  See  that,  Anna?  It  will  be  reckoned  in  our  returns," 
she  said,  exhibiting  a  piece  of  paper.  It  was  Ephraim's 
check  for  the  twenty-five  pounds  promised  months  ago,  but 
on  a  condition  which  had  not  been  fulfilled. 

"  She  has  the  secret  of  persuading  him,"  thought  Anna. 
"  Why  have  I  never  found  it  ?  " 

Then  Agnes,  in  a  new  white  frock,  came  up  with  three 
shillings,  proceeds  of  bouquets. 

"  But  you  must  take  that  to  the  flower-stall,  my  pet," 
said  Mrs.  Sutton. 

*'  Can't  I  give  it  to  you?  "  the  child  pleaded.  "  I  want 
your  stall  to  be  the  best." 

Mynors  arrived  next,  with  something  concealed  in  tissue- 
paper.  He  removed  the  paper,  and  showed,  in  a  frame  of 
crimson  plush,  a  common  white  plate  decorated  with  a  simple 
band  and  line,  and  a  monogram  in  the  centre — "  A.  T." 
Anna  blushed,  recognising  the  plate  which  she  had  painted 
that  afternoon  in  July  at  Mynors'  works. 

"  Can  you  sell  this?  "  Mynors  asked  Mrs.  Sutton. 

"  I'll  try  to,"  said  Mrs.  Sutton  doubtfully — not  in  the 
secret.  "  What's  it  meant  for?  " 

"  Try  to  sell  it  to  me,"  said  Mynors. 

"  Well,"  she  laughed,  "  what  will  you  give?  " 

*'  A  couple  of  sovereigns." 


292  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  Make  it  guineas." 

He  paid  the  money,  and  requested  Anna  to  keep  the  plate 
for  him. 

At  nine  o'clock  it  was  announced  that,  though  raffling 
was  forbidden,  the  bazaar  would  be  enlivened  by  an  auction. 
A  licensed  auctioneer  was  brought,  and  the  sale  commenced. 
The  auctioneer,  however,  failed  to  attune  himself  to  the  wild 
spirit  of  the  hour,  and  his  professional  efforts  would  have 
resulted  in  a  fiasco  had  not  Mynors,  perceiving  the  danger, 
leaped  to  the  platform  and  masterfully  assumed  the  hammer. 
Mynors  surpassed  himself  in  the  kind  of  wit  that  amuses 
an  excited  crowd,  and  the  auction  soon  monopolised  the  at- 
tention of  the  room ;  it  was  always  afterwards  remembered 
as  the  crowning  success  of  the  bazaar.  The  incredible  man 
took  ten  pounds  in  twenty  minutes.  During  this  episode 
Anna,  who  had  been  left  alone  in  the  stall,  first  noticed  Willie 
Price  in  the  room.  His  ship  sailed  on  the  Monday,  but 
steerage  passengers  had  to  be  aboard  on  Sunday,  and  he 
was  saying  good-bye  to  a  few  acquaintances.  He  seemed 
quite  cheerful,  as  he  walked  about  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  chatting  with  this  one  and  that;  it  was  the  false 
and  hysterical  gaiety  that  precedes  a  final  separation.  As 
soon  as  he  saw  Anna  he  came  towards  her. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Miss  Tellwright,"  he  said  jauntily. 
"  I  leave  for  Liverpool  to-morrow  morning.  Wish  me 
luck." 

Nothing  more ;  no  word,  no  accent,  to  recall  the  terrible 
but  sublime  past. 

"  I  do,"  she  answered.     They  shook  hands.     Others  ap- 


THE  BAZAAR  293 

preaching,  he  drifted  away.  Her  glance  followed  him  like 
a  beneficent  influence. 

For  three  days  she  had  carried  in  her  pocket  an  envelope 
containing  a  banknote  for  a  hundred  pounds,  intending  by 
some  device  to  force  it  on  him  as  a  parting  gift.  Now  the 
last  chance  was  lost,  and  she  had  not  even  attempted  this 
difficult  feat  of  charity.  Such  futility,  she  reflected,  self- 
scorning,  was  of  a  piece  with  her  life.  "  He  hasn't  really 
gone.  He  hasn't  really  gone,"  she  kept  repeating,  and  yet 
knew  well  that  he  had  gone. 

"  Do  you  know  what  they  are  saying,  Anna  ?  "  said  Bea- 
trice, when,  after  eleven  o'clock,  the  bazaar  was  closed  to 
the  public,  and  the  stall-holders  and  their  assistants  were 
preparing  to  depart,  their  movements  hastened  by  the  stern 
aspect  of  the  town-hall  keeper. 

"  No.  What  ?  "  said  Anna ;  and  in  the  same  moment 
guessed. 

"  They  say  that  old  Titus  Price  embezzled  fifty  pounds 
from  the  building  fund,  and  Henry  made  it  up,  privately, 
so  that  there  shouldn't  be  a  scandal.  Just  fancy !  Do  you 
believe  it  ?  " 

The  secret  was  abroad.  She  looked  round  the  room,  and 
saw  it  in  every  face. 

"  Who  says  ?  "  Anna  demanded  fiercely. 

"  It's  all  over  the  place.     Miss  Dickinson  told  me." 

"  You  will  be  glad  to  know,  ladies,"  Mynors*  voice  sang 
out  from  the  platform,  "  that  the  total  proceeds,  so  far  as 
we  can  calculate  them  now,  exceed  five  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  pounds." 


294  ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

There  was  clapping  of  hands,  which  died  out  sud- 
denly. 

"  Now,  Agnes,"  Anna  called,  "  come  along,  quick ;  you're 
as  white  as  a  sheet.  Good-night,  Mrs.  Sutton ;  good-night, 
Bee." 

Mynors  was  still  occupied  on  the  platform. 

The  town-hall  keeper  extinguished  some  of  the  lights. 
The  bazaar  was  over. 


XIV:   END   OF   A   SIMPLE   SOUL 

THE  next  morning,  at  half-past  seven,  Anna  was 
standing  in  the  garden-doorway  of  the  Priory.     The 
sun  had  just  risen,  the  air  was  cold;  roof  and  pave- 
ment were  damp ;  rain  had  fallen,  and  more  was  to  fall.     A 
door  opened  higher  up  the  street,  and  Willie  Price  came  out, 
carrying  a  small  bag.     He  turned  to  speak  to  some  person 
within  the  house,  and  then  stepped  forward.     As  he  passed 
Anna  she  sprang  forth. 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried,  "  I  had  just  come  up  here  to  see  if  the 
workmen  had  locked  up  properly.  We  have  some  of  our 
new  furniture  in  the  house,  you  know."  She  was  as  red 
as  the  sun  over  Hillport. 

He  glanced  at  her.  "  Have  you  heard  ? "  he  asked 
simply. 

"  About  what  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  About  my  poor  old  father." 

"  Yes.  I  was  hoping — hoping  you  would  never 
know." 

By  a  common  impulse  they  went  into  the  garden  of  the 
Priory,  and  he  shut  the  door. 

"  Never  know?  "  he  repeated.  "  Oh!  they  took  care  to 
tell  me." 

A  silence  followed. 

"Is  that  your  luggage?"  she  inquired.  He  lifted  up 
the  handbag,  and  nodded. 

295 


296  ANNA   OF   THE   FIVE   TOWNS 

"  All  of  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said.     "  I'm  only  an  emigrant." 

"  I've  got  a  note  here  for  you,"  she  said.  "  I  should 
have  posted  it  to  the  steamer ;  but  now  you  can  take  it  your- 
self. I  want  you  not  to  read  it  till  you  get  to  Mel- 
bourne." 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  and  crumpled  the  proffered  envelope 
into  his  pocket.  He  was  not  thinking  of  the  note  at  all. 
Presently  he  asked :  "  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  about  my 
father?  If  I  had  to  hear  it,  I'd  sooner  have  heard  it  from 
you." 

"  You  must  try  to  forget  it,"  she  urged  him.  "  You 
are  not  your  father." 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  been  born,"  he  said.  "  I  wish  I'd 
gone  to  prison." 

Now  was  the  moment  when,  if  ever,  the  mother's  influence 
should  be  exerted. 

"  Be  a  man,"  she  said  softly.  "  I  did  the  best  I  could 
for  you.  I  shall  always  think  of  you,  in  Australia,  getting 
on." 

She  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  Yes,"  she  said  again, 
passionately :  "  I  shall  always  remember  you — always." 

The  hand  with  which  he  touched  her  arm  shook  like  an 
old  man's  hand.  As  their  eyes  met  in  an  intense  and  pain- 
ful gaze,  to  her,  at  least,  it  was  revealed  that  they  were 
lovers.  What  he  had  learnt  in  that  instant  can  only  be 
guessed  from  his  next  action.  .  .  . 

Anna  ran  out  of  the  garden  into  the  street,  and  so  home, 


END  OF  A   SIMPLE   SOUL  297 

never  looking  behind  to  see  if  he  pursued  his  way  to  the 
station. 

Some  may  argue  that  Anna,  knowing  she  loved  another 
man,  ought  not  to  have  married  Mynors.  But  she  did  not 
reason  thus ;  such  a  notion  never  even  occurred  to  her.  She 
had  promised  to  marry  Mynors  and  she  married  him. 
Nothing  else  was  possible.  She  who  had  never  failed  in 
duty  did  not  fail  then.  She  who  had  always  submitted  and 
bowed  the  head,  submitted  and  bowed  the  head  then.  She 
had  sucked  in  with  her  mother's  milk  the  profound  truth 
that  a  woman's  life  is  always  a  renunciation,  greater  or  less. 
Hers  by  chance  was  greater.  Facing  the  future  calmly  and 
genially,  she  took  oath  with  herself  to  be  a  good  wife  to  the 
man  whom,  with  all  his  excellences,  she  had  never  loved. 
Her  thoughts  often  dwelt  lovingly  on  Willie  Price,  whom 
she  deemed  to  be  pursuing  in  Australia  an  honourable  and 
successful  career,  quickened  at  the  outset  by  her  hundred 
pounds.  This  vision  of  him  was  her  stay.  But  neither  she 
nor  anyone  in  the  Five  Towns  or  elsewhere  ever  heard  of 
Willie  Price  again.  And  well  might  none  hear!  The 
abandoned  pitshaft  does  not  deliver  up  its  secret.  And  so 
— the  Bank  of  England  is  the  richer  by  a  hundred  pounds 
unclaimed,  and  the  world  the  poorer  by  a  simple  and  meek 
soul  stung  to  revolt  only  in  its  last  hour. 


THE  END 


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